


Escape

by Impala_Dreamer



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blood, Blood and Gore, Bodily Harm, F/M, Horror, Kidnapping, NSFW, Psychological Horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-07
Updated: 2018-12-06
Packaged: 2019-09-13 05:58:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 28,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16886934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Impala_Dreamer/pseuds/Impala_Dreamer
Summary: ~Y/N and Dean are abducted after a night at the bar and thrown into a maze of horrors. Can Sam track down his brother and girlfriend in time? Can they even hold on that long?~





	1. A Quick Pit Stop In Hell

Y/N was smiling, drunk and happy, seated between her two favorite people. She laughed at Dean’s ill-timed punchline and let her head fall to Sam’s shoulder. He pressed his lips to her forehead and she sighed, wrapping her hands tighter around his giant bicep. It was a good night.

Dean went on, rambling excitedly about the time he had singlehandedly taken out a nest of eighteen vampires down near Houston. A few too many beers in, he was loud and carefree, pantomiming the encounter and decapitations with wild, waving arms.

“Eighteen?” Sam laughed, shaking his head at his brother. “I seem to remember that it was six.”

Y/N sat up a bit to add her two cents. “Six? Whoa, the first time he told me, it was nine.”

The couple looked at Dean, who scrunched up his face in thought while counting vamps on his fingers. “Four…six…? OK, whatever. It was a lot and I was awesome. You gotta give me that, Sammy.”

Sam nodded and shrugged a bit, letting Dean keep his grand illusions. He was too tired to fight anyway. The trio had been on a hellish road trip for the last two weeks, picking up a new case as soon as the last had ended.

It had begun as a vacation. Y/N and Dean had somehow convinced Sam that they needed to cross something off their bucket lists, so after some epic debate about making good use of what little free time they had, the Hunters headed to Cleveland to pay homage to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame.

Sam had only a mild interest in the museum, but found himself falling under a spell of childlike excitement watching Dean and Y/N make their way through the building. Dean, who had always imagined himself a rockstar, spent more than an hour in the Les Paul exhibit, staring in wide-eyed wonder at the variety of guitars displayed. And Y/N was so caught up in reading every plaque on every display, that Sam had to physically pull her away just to go get some food. It had been a great day, full of smiles and excited laughter, but the fun never lasts.

Along with an immense collection of Rock memorabilia, Cleveland was also the new home to a pack of hungry pureblood werewolves, and the Hunters could not turn a blind eye. Vacation or no, they had a job to do. Thus began their two week, overloaded and bloody journey through the Great Lakes.

After the wolves were taken care of, they started for home, but of course the local newsfeeds kept screaming at them. In the end, two separate ghosts were sent packing, one coven was dispersed, and a nasty ghoul problem was sorted just outside of Ann Arbor.

Dean decided to call it quits after that and go home to rest, and as the Impala soared down the highway in Michigan, Y/N begged them to make a stop.

“Oh my god, dude!” she had exclaimed to both boys at once. “We have got to make a pit stop.”

“You just peed like an hour ago,” Dean complained.

“First off, gross. Please don’t keep track of my bathroom breaks,” Y/N cringed before going on. “Anyway, we are about to pass through… Hell.”

Sam shook his head, confused by her statement. “What?”

“Hell,” she said again, sitting forward to show him the map on her cell phone. “There’s a little town called Hell, and we have to stop there.”

“No.” Dean glanced at the map and shook his head. “I just want to go home. I’m tired, I’m cranky, and I’m out of clean shirts. No pit stops.”

Y/N pouted and rested her chin on the back of the front seat between the boys. “Please?” she whined. “There’s a bar that’s all decked out with kitschy Hell junk. Don’t you wanna go have a beer in Hell?”

Dean and Sam passed a look between them, going over her head to speak in that secret language that drove Y/N insane. Sam shook his head, clearly not interested in the layover, but Dean shrugged and gave him a faint smile.

“I could use a beer…”

Dean got his beer and introduced it to six new friends while Sam sat back and watched his brother and girlfriend get ridiculously drunk. He didn’t mind, they needed the break; and Y/N got adorably frisky the more she drank.

As the night wore on, and Y/N’s hands and lips began to wander, Sam made a decision.

He kissed Y/N sweetly on the lips before removing her fingers from his pocket, and stood up.

“Where’re you goin’?” she slurred, staring up at Sam with disappointed eyes.

He laughed at the pout on her face. “I’m going to go get the car, and you two are gonna settle up on the bill.”

“Boo!” Dean hollered into his bottle. “We’re just getting started!”

“Come on, Sam…” Y/N whined and grabbed for his hand.

Sam caught her wrist and bent to kiss the back of her hand. As he did he looked up and winked. “There’s a motel a few blocks away. I’m gonna go get us a few rooms.”

“A rooms?”

“Yeah,” Sam laughed. “And then we can…”

Y/N’s inebriated mind picked up what he was laying down, and she grinned excitedly. “Yes! Go! Hurry!”

“Meet ya out front in a bit,” he said in farewell.

Y/N turned to Dean and did a little happy dance. “Imma have some sex tonight!”

Dean gagged at the thought and mumbled, “He better make sure the rooms aren’t connected.”

A good half hour later, Sam shot a text to Y/N letting her know he was on the way back. Not wanting to sit around and wait, Dean and Y/N hit the street, stumbling over themselves as the cool night air surrounded them.

When Dean tripped over a rock and nearly took Y/N down with him, they opted to walk arm in arm and hold each other up.

“Can I tell you something, Y/N/N?” Dean said as he slung his arm lazily over her shoulder. “I can’t remember ever being this drunk.”

Y/N let out a laugh that echoed down the empty street. “Welcome to Hell, Dean.”

“This…this is not Hell,” he told her with a sigh. “Hell is… well, fuck, it’s Hell. It’s bad.”

“I can imagine.”

Dean stopped suddenly and grabbed her arms, turning her to face him. All laughter was pushed aside, and in his hops-induced haze, Dean’s expression became hard and serious. “No, Y/N/N. Listen to me. You have to promise me you’ll never go to Hell.” He shook her shoulders, driving his words into her. “Promise me.”

Y/N looked up with fear in her eyes. “I won’t, Dean.”

“You promise?”

“Yeah. I promise.”

Dean seemed content by her vow and pulled her to his chest, hugging her tight as he teared up a bit. “I love you, kid.”

“I love you too, dude.”

Satisfied by their chick-flick moment, Dean released her and turned on the spot, suddenly not sure which direction they were supposed to be walking in. As he looked around for a landmark, a crash sounded in the alleyway behind them. Their Hunter’s instincts got the better of them, and after a quick nod in silent agreement, they moved towards the darkness.

The alley was long and wide, and the lights from the street only penetrated so far down. Dean led the way, squinting into the pitch black, and laughed when he saw a stray cat digging through an overturned trash can.

“I guess that’s that,” he announced, shaking his head at the scavenger.

Behind him, Y/N let out a clipped cry, and Dean froze, muscles tensing at the sound.

“Y/N?” There was no answer, just the sound of boots scraping the pavement. “Y/N!” His voice bounced off of the bricks, and Dean spun around, searching blindly for his friend.

“Y/N!”

As he prepared to take off towards the commotion, Dean was yanked backwards by strong arms that circled his neck. Off balance and drunk, he clawed at the hand on his throat and tried to free himself, but the attacker was quick. Before he could fight back, Dean felt a needle pierce the back of his neck and the world disappeared.

Sam parked outside the bar and cut the engine. He had called Dean’s phone three times before giving up and heading inside to extract the drunkards. Their table was empty, cleared of the mass of empty bottles, and Dean and Y/N were nowhere to be found.

Tired and annoyed, Sam rolled his eyes as he set off down the street, keeping a lookout for the wandering idiots. He circled the bar and walked the main street twice, not able to find any sign of them. They could not have gotten too far, given the time between his texts, and Sam began to worry. He paused underneath a streetlamp to try Y/N’s phone again, and the response gave him no comfort.

He heard the melodic ringtone behind him and Sam ran towards it. Y/N’s cell phone, in it’s dusty rose colored case, lay abandoned at the mouth of the alley. He called her name, but the only reply was his own deep voice bouncing back at him.

They were gone.


	2. One Hell of a Hangover

The pillow was soft and cool. With her eyes still closed, Y/N turned over slowly, stretching her legs out and tucking her arms beneath the pillow, bunching it up under her cheek. Very slowly she came back to herself, waking from a dream that faded too quickly to stick in her memory. Something about a cat…

Flashes came back to her: a devilish mascot hanging over a bar, endless bottles of domestic brew, an alley, that cat, Dean.

“Dean!” Y/N shot up, sending the pillow crashing to the floor as she brought her hands up to cradle her forehead. Sitting up quickly set off a thousand alarms in her head, and a throbbing hangover began its march from the back of her neck, up over her skull, to settle behind her eyes.

Y/N slumped back against the headboard and squinted against the pain, looking around for Dean. The room was mostly dark, the only light coming from an old halogen lamp tucked unto the farthest corner, but Y/N could see enough. She was alone in a strange room, lying on a white canopy bed that was decked out in pink frilly sheets. Unicorns and fairies graced every wall on shiny posters, and teddy bears in bowties eyed Y/N from their perches on shelves above.

“Dean?” she tried again, but got no answer; there was nothing but silence around her.

Sneering at a plush bear on the nightstand beside her, Y/N swung her feet off the bed and landed on the softest carpet she had ever felt. She wiggled her toes into the high lavender pile, enjoying the sensation for a moment before realizing that the touch meant that her boots were gone, and along with them, the knife she kept hidden inside. A quick pat down revealed her phone and gun were also missing, and Y/N growled at a sparkle-winged sprite that pranced on the wall.

“Where the fuck am I?”

She spun around the hideous room and saw two doors, the narrower one clearly leading to a closet. She walked to the exit and fought with the handle for a moment, giving the baseplate a swift kick when she couldn’t open the lock. Y/N moved to the closet door and, finding it locked as well, gave it a kick so it wouldn’t feel left out.

The windows were boarded up, the doors were locked, her head was pounding, and panic was beginning to set in.

Dean sucked in a deep breath through his nose and coughed at the gag in his mouth. It was a strip of cotton, pulled too tight between his lips and tied quickly behind his head. He opened his eyes more than once, finding it hard to tell if they were truly open in the pitch black hole he found himself in. At least, he figured it was a hole. It was tight and cold; he sat on the ground, ankles tied, wrists bound behind his back. He had barely enough room to wiggle around; his knees were up against his chest, and his bare feet hit the opposite wall. He was stuck, sore, hungover, and alone.

He sat up as best he could, peeling his back off of the wall, and tried to work out the knot binding his hands. As he struggled, his foot slipped and he kicked hard against the wall.

Y/N jumped, startled by the loud bang. She spun around towards the small door and waited to hear it again. “Hello?”

Inside the closet, Dean’s eyes grew wide as he recognised Y/N’s muffled voice. He tried to yell, to call to her through the gag, but not much came out. He kicked the wall again, hoping she was close by.

Y/N placed her palm on the door and listened. Another kick, and she tried the knob again. “Dean?”

The reply was unintelligible, but it was definitely Dean.

“Oh crap,” she whispered, spinning around to look for a way into the closet. “Just hold on, dude. I’ll getcha out.” There had to be a key.

As Dean struggled with the ropes and gag in the dark, Y/N ransacked the bedroom. She tipped over every knick knack, pulled out each drawer, riffled through the bedsheets; each time coming up empty.

Dean moaned and kicked at the door a few more times, and then, in an act of frustration, Y/N pulled a unicorn statue off of the bookshelf and snapped its horn off over her knee. Aided by the glittery golden tool, Y/N made quick work of the antique lock that was keeping her from Dean.

“Well, look at you,” Y/N joked as light poured over a trussed-up Winchester. “You know, Dean, it is 2017, you can come out of the closet.”

His response was cut off by the gag, but Y/N could make out the tail ends of a few of his more favorite profanities.

“Yeah, yeah. Hold still,” she scolded as she fought with the ties holding him down. She worked on his ankles first, just to be annoying, and then his gag and arm restraints in turn. “You OK?”

Dean rubbed at his jaw and then each wrist, scowling at the raw flesh that covered both sides. “Yeah,” he said; his voice gravely and hushed. “You?”

“I’m good,” she said quickly, standing and extending a hand to help him up. “Got a raging hangover, but otherwise…”

Dean chuckled and followed Y/N into the bedroom. “Yeah, me too. I didn’t think I drank that much.” He rubbed the back of his neck and flinched as a pain shot through him. “Fuck.” He reached for Y/N and swept her long hair back from her shoulders, inspecting her neck.

“The hell are you doing?” she yelped and tried to slap him away.

“We were drugged,” he explained, pressing his index finger to the tiny red spot on her neck. “Hence the hangovers.”

“I figured that was all the beer,” she joked and felt the pinpoint hole for herself. “Motherfu- who did this? Did you see anything? All I remember is following you down that alleyway and then waking up in this… preteen hellhole of a bedroom.”

Dean shook his head and looked around at their rainbow prison. “I didn’t see anything. Heard you scream and then someone jumped me.”

“Well, this is just great.” Y/N plopped down onto the foot of the bed as Dean went through the room just as she had. The door was still locked, windows still blocked. “So, what do you think is doing this? Demons? Not really vamp-like to drug someone…oh, maybe those vetala things?”

Dean shrugged but seemed unconvinced. “I don’t think we need to worry about what or why right now, Y/N/N.” He threw his shoulder into the door as he turned the knob. Nothing moved. “We need to get out of here.”

“Obviously.”

“Don’t get nasty with me,” he said under his breath. “How’d you get me out of the closet?”

Y/N bit her tongue so as not to make another joke and handed him the broken horn. “I improvised.”

“Smart girl.” Dean tried it on the main door, but it was too big; the door had a modern lock and he would need a smaller instrument in order to pick it. “You don’t have a bobby pin on you, do you?”

Y/N shook her head. “Nope. Didn’t see anything small enough while I was looting before, either.”

“Damn it.”

Y/N went through her pockets once more just to be sure. She usually kept a paper clip stuck on her jeans for such an occasion, but she’d been picked clean. “My knife’s gone. My phone, my gun; everything.”

“Hey, phone!” Dean searched his pockets with hope in his eyes, but came up just as short. “Son of a bitch,” he grumbled. “And where the hell are my shoes?”

Y/N lifted her foot and wiggled her toes at him. “Good question. Let’s just add that to the list.” She sighed and stood up, taking another look around, searching for anything, any clue. “You have nothing on you? All those pockets and nothing?” She turned to Dean and started to count. There were at least six pockets on his jeans and two on his gray flannel. Dean patted himself down again, this time dipping his fingers into each pocket. When he reached the top left of his shirt, his eyes lit up.

“Holy shit…” With the dramatic flair of a stage magician, Dean withdrew a tiny silver key from his breast pocket and held it high, grinning at Y/N.

“Well, you better see if it works,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest. “I’ll hold my applause until we’re out of here, if you don’t mind.”

Dean quickly moved to the door and slid the key into place. It turned smoothly and they heard the lock click open. As Dean went to turn the knob, Y/N held up her hand, making him pause.

“What?”

Y/N nodded. “Exactly. What? What are you opening the door to? Why were we kidnapped and to where and there just happens to be a key in your pocket? Think, Dean. No good is going to come from opening this door!”

Dean closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Listen, Kid, whatever it is, we’ll figure it out. This is the way out of this unicorn disaster, so unless you’re moving in here permanently…”

“OK, OK. Just… go slow.”

Dean gave her a reassuring smile and closed his hand around the knob. “You with me?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“Great attitude,” he laughed. “Let’s go.”


	3. Hell of High Water

To appease her, Dean opened the door painstakingly slowly. It almost seemed to make the tension worse as Y/N clung to Dean’s shoulder and peered around him. When it was fully open, she let out a short gasp and pulled back. Dean, seeing nothing in front of him but a dark hallway, turned to his friend with a perplexed expression.

“You know you’re a badass Hunter, right? Why are you quaking at a hallway?”

Y/N shrugged and let out a little laugh. “I watch a lot of psychological horror. Something’s gonna jump out at us soon. So…” she waved her hand at Dean to move him forward. “You go first.”

“You’re such a girl,” he chuckled and moved into the hallway.

It was dark, but they could see enough to keep them moving forward. Dean pocketed the key, just in case, and led Y/N through the darkness. The room they had left was at the very end of the most peculiar hall either had ever seen. By all accounts, it was just a hallway, perhaps found on the top floor of any American home. There was ugly floral wallpaper around them, adorned with wooden frames, and a fake oriental carpet runner beneath their feet. Three doors lined either side, and at the end sat a table with flowers in a crystal vase. First glances tricked their minds into feeling at ease, but the more they looked around, the more obviously wrong everything was.

The wallpaper was dark and torn in odd places, streaked across the middle by dried bloody fingerprints. The picture frames were cracked and empty; the flowers were dead. While these details added to the overall unease, the most glaring problem was: the hallway had no exit. There was no turn, no staircase, nothing but the door they came through and three others to choose from.

“I really don’t like this place, Dean.” Y/N shivered and grabbed his arm as Dean tried the knob on the first door they came upon.

“I know, Y/N/N,” he answered in half a whisper. The door was locked, but there was no keyhole, no lock, just a knob. “The hell?”

Y/N came around from behind and took a look. She tried the knob, which barely budged, and then ran her fingers up along the frame. “Dude, it’s not a door,” she said, marveling at the craftsmanship. “Try the next one. Betcha twenty bucks it’s fake too.”

Dean cocked his head in question, but did as she suggested, testing the door on the right. Like the first, it was just a facade. “Who the hell builds a fake hallway?”

Y/N cocked an eyebrow. “Well, I’m guessing that last door over there is gonna be the one that’s open. Let’s just get this over with.”

“Now you wanna go first?”

She shook her head. “Not even a little, but I want to go home. So I’m gonna follow the plan here and let them lead me out so I can kick someone’s ass.”

Dean followed her down the rest of the hallway. “You think there’s a plan?”

“Well, yeah. I mean… someone took the time to build this creepy as fuck hallway; to kidnap us and set this whole thing in motion, there is usually a plan.”

Dean took a moment before opening the last door. He rubbed at the bridge of his nose with tired fingers and sighed. “I’m getting too old for this shit.”

Y/N turned the knob and gestured for Dean to enter. “Come on, Gramps. The game is afoot.”

~

Sam questioned every last person at the bar. He spoke to the two bartenders, grilled the owner, and even threatened the cook. No one had seen Dean and Y/N leave, or even remembered seeing them at all.

With the help of the rising sun, Sam was able to scour the alley for clues, but besides Y/N’s abandoned cell phone, there was nothing. No scrap of torn flannel, no blood, not a thing was out of place; they had simply vanished.

Exhausted and without any leads, Sam retreated to the motel and set up shop, spreading a map of the area out on the wall with pushpins, and his laptop on the table. Fueled by crappy coffee and panic, he scrolled for hours through the police blotter and local news articles, coming across some startling information. Three couples had vanished from town over the last three years; the most recent abduction taking place exactly one year ago. No clues were ever found, the bodies never recovered. They were just gone.

~

Y/N walked confidently into the room and spun around, looking at nothing. The room was small, maybe eight feet by eight feet if she had to guess. The floor, ceiling, and walls were all painted a smooth gunmetal gray. There were no windows, no light, and no door. The last bit registered in Y/N’s mind too late, and before she could issue a warning, Dean let the door shut behind him.

“No!”

As soon as the lock engaged, the room came to life. Emergency lighting kicked on, shining down on them with an eerie ultraviolet glow.

“What the fuck…” Dean cussed as he gaped at the far wall. There, scrawled in sloppy block letters, was a message, visible only under the blacklight.

WELCOME TO HELL

“Dean!” Y/N’s confidence melted away as she stared up at the greeting, her feet frozen in place, heart pounding in her ears.

Dean spun around and tried with no luck to open the door once again, and then gave it a good punch in an attempt to make himself feel better.

Above them, sprinkler heads appeared from tiny openings in the ceiling. Y/N looked up at the sound of the mechanics moving over head, and lost her breath to panic when icy cold water began to rain down upon them. “Dean!”

“Shit!” He barely had time to look up as thin strips on two of the four walls opened up and water came gushing out. The flood knocked into Dean with such a force that it pushed him off balance and he teetered forward, almost falling into Y/N’s arms.

Water rose quickly, covering their feet and inching higher every second. Soaked and terrified, Y/N clung to Dean’s shirt and shivered. She didn’t have to speak, the look in her eyes said enough.

“It’s OK, Y/N. I got you,” he said, trying to soothe her. Given the rate that the water was climbing over their knees, Dean knew she would soon be facing one of her biggest fears.

Y/N shook in his arms, watching the flood rise. “Dean, I can’t.”

“You can.” He grabbed her shoulders and spun her around “You will. Just hang in there. I’ll figure something out.”

Dean left her side, wrenching his wet flannel from her fists, and clawed at the door, kicking and hitting it, begging it to open.

Y/N wrapped her arms around herself and held tight, closing her eyes and mind to the situation. She was shaking from the cold and felt the waves crashing around her chest. “Not like this, not like this,” she repeated in a whispered prayer, a chant sent up to Heaven but never answered. As the water reached her shoulders, she lost her footing, and screamed as her head went under.

Dean, still able to stand, grabbed her arm and hauled her upwards, holding her tightly under the arms as she coughed and sucked in a breath. “You good?” he yelled over the rushing water. “I need you to swim now, Kid. Come on!”

She nodded frantically and started to move, kicking her feet and waving her arms as best she could. Certain she could stay above water, Dean moved away from the sealed door and tried to find something, anything that would help get them out. What was the point of the false hallway and psycho unicorn dream-land if they were just going to die moments later? Dean moved slowly around the room, clinging to the walls as he felt his way around, tapping here and there, hoping to find a secret hatch or trigger point.

Soon, Dean began to float as well, his height doing nothing to keep him grounded as the tides forced them towards the ceiling. After a quick glance at Y/N, he dove down under the frigid waves and continued his search. He pushed at the walls, felt along every seam, desperate to find any escape. Twice, he shot back up to the surface, breaking free of the water only to find Y/N hysterical and shaking. They were so high up now, she was able to push against the ceiling, and Dean could see the proverbial clock ticking down. 

He sucked in a deep breath and dove into the darkness again, picking up the search where he’d left off. The cold bit at his face, but he was getting used to it. It stung his cheeks and neck, but his body was becoming numb; his muscles screamed, joints ached, making it harder and harder to move. As he shoved at another panel on the submerged wall, Dean felt the wood give, and saw a stream of bubbles float passed him on their way up to the ceiling. Excited and running out of time, Dean clawed at the panel, digging with his short nails until he could slip a finger underneath and pry it open.

High above, Y/N’s forehead pressed hard against the ceiling. She pursed her lips and tried to steady her breathing, but she was running out of air. As the water slowly closed the final inches around her, Y/N took a deep breath and closed her eyes. Ice enveloped her face, stinging her eyelids like a thousand needles, but she held them closed, trying to call up a soothing image in her mind. Her heart was racing, terror flowing through her veins, but she willed herself to be calm, and thought of the one person who could always bring her peace. In her mind, she saw Sam, smiling and happy, reaching out for her. She took his hand and he pulled her close, capturing her lips as his warmth filled her body. She let the image wash over her and push away the cold, let it slow her heart as her lungs burned and her body twitched.

“I love you, Sam,” she whispered against his pink lips, finding peace once again in the swirling galaxy of his eyes. “I love you so much.”

Sam brushed the hair back from her forehead and held her cheek with his giant hand. “I love you too, Y/N.”

She could hold her breath no longer, and beat against the ceiling, struggling to keep her mouth closed against death, but it was useless. Her lips parted and her lungs expanded, pulling in a stream of water.

Dean’s hands were bleeding, fingers cut against the splintered wood, sending droplets of crimson into the raging waters. His body protested each move he made, but finally, he yanked away the last bits of paneling to find a latch. Not knowing or caring what would happen, he lifted the handle and gave it a hard pull.

Instantly, the room shifted gears. The spigots in the ceiling and walls closed, and the floor opened, revealing drains that sucked the water from the room in a heavy rush that pulled Y/N and Dean down towards the ground. Within seconds, the room was cleared, and Dean gagged, coughing and panting, as he lay back against the hard floor. Once he caught his breath, he rolled over to see Y/N not far from him, her eyes closed, chest still, lips tinged blue.

“Y/N!” Dean crawled to her, still choking on the fluid in his own lungs, and slapped her cheek. “Wake up!”

When she didn’t move, Dean went to work, calling up his rudimentary CPR knowledge to push the water from her lungs and send fresh air in. After the third round, Y/N’s shoulders shot up, and Dean rolled her onto her side as she expelled the liquid in a strong gush.

“Let it out. There you go,” Dean sighed, exhausted and weak, as he patted her back and caught his breath once more.

“Dean, what the fuck? Where are we?” Y/N turned in his arms, and stared up at him with pleading eyes, begging him to make sense of their predicament.

“I don’t know. But we’re gonna get out of here.”

She shook her head and looked away, uncertain, and still shaking.

“Hey!” Dean cupped her cheek and pulled her eyes back to his. “We are going to get out of here,” he said firmly. “I promise.”

Y/N nodded. “OK. OK.” She was still panting, taking in quick, shallow breaths, on the edge of hyperventilating. Dean grabbed her shoulders and pulled her in for a quick hug, taking a moment to calm them both.

As they let their hearts slow, the room changed again; this time, the lights clicked off, and a hidden door revealed itself in front of them.

“You ready?” Dean asked, pulling back to check her over.

“No,” she said honestly, and then took a deep breath. “But, let’s get this over with.”


	4. Hell of a Mess

Sam was startled awake when his elbow slid off of the table and knocked his chin from its perch. He caught himself before his forehead slammed into the keyboard, and sat up, quickly sucking in a deep breath. He wasn’t sure when he’d fallen asleep, but it hadn’t been too long ago; the mid-morning sun was barely halfway across the ugly green motel carpet, and he had watched it rise as he worked through the night.

He scrubbed a tired hand down his face and scratched at the scruff that shadowed his jaw. Y/N always liked it when he let it go for a day or two, but he couldn’t stand it. He needed to shave, but there was no time.

Y/N.

For the hundredth time, Sam’s eyes landed on her discarded cell phone, and he picked it up, gingerly holding the case and staring down at the screen. He tapped twice to turn it on and smiled at the lock screen. It was a picture of him and Dean, taken by Y/N in the backseat of the Impala. It was just a normal day; the sun shone through the windshield, and the brothers’ profiles glowed. He couldn’t honestly remember the conversation now, but it appeared to be a happy one, as he was smiling, mid laugh, at Dean.

After a deep breath, Sam set the phone down and pulled his laptop closer. He called up the GPS on Dean’s cell for the tenth time and crossed his fingers. He waited as the information loaded, but it was pointless. He was stuck, no clues, no ideas, nothing.

~

Still dripping and exhausted, Dean pulled Y/N to her feet and looked her over. The color was back in her cheeks, but her eyes were bloodshot and wide. She was shaking, the shiver constant throughout her entire body, and Dean rubbed his hands up and down her arms quickly, trying to warm her. He bent his head to catch her eyes and gave a gentle smile.

“You’re alright,” he said, but she looked away. “Hey, Kid!” That always caught her attention. Y/N turned back and pierced his eyes with hers. She was terrified. “You good?”

“Yeah,” she whispered and then cleared her throat, trying again. “Yeah, I’m good.”

“OK.” Dean pulled her close, hiding his face from her as he let a moment of fear darken his eyes. When it passed, he looked towards the open door and patted her back. “Let’s get moving.”

She let Dean take her hand and lead her towards the next room, but the pitch black that greeted them made her pause and pull away. “No… Dean, please.”

“It’s OK, Y/N/N. We just gotta keep moving.” He stepped inside and tugged her arm. “It’s like Willy Wonka, remember? Gotta go forward to go back.” 

Y/N let out a little moan of protest, but pushed on. A second after she was through the door, it slammed shut behind her and the Hunter yelped. “I can’t do this!” she screamed suddenly, ripping her hand away from Dean to cover her face. “Dean!”

Her voice echoed around them; and Dean spun on the spot, trying to reach out for her. He took a step in her direction and tripped over something solid but malleable, hard yet soft at the same time. His toes dug into it and he gagged, his stomach lifting bile to his throat at the thought of what it was.

The darkness that engulfed them was absolute. There was no speck of light, no glimmer of anything. Y/N could only tell her eyes were open because the room was darker than her mind. It was a blackness that swallowed everything; everything but her screams.

Dean ignored the thing on the floor. He ignored the dark and his mounting anxiety. He didn’t have time to be scared. The only thing that mattered was getting their asses out alive.

He waved his arm in front of him until he hit Y/N’s arm and then grabbed her, pulling her back to his chest. With her face in his sopping flannel, her cries were muted. Dean whispered into her ear, needing her to focus and calm down, but nothing could break through her panic. Harsh tremors shook her frame, and Dean held her tighter still. He had seen Y/N go up against the worst kinds of creatures and hardly break a sweat; but the dark, the not knowing what lie ahead, the empty reason behind it all was too much for her.

Dean gave up trying to calm her, and just held on. He needed it; the comfort of worrying about someone else. If he stopped to think about something other than getting Y/N out unscathed, he’d probably snap as well.

With a loud click that boomed over Y/N’s tears, a spotlight appeared, aimed at a door opposite the frightened duo. The beam shed just enough light to illuminate the small room and the thing that Dean had tripped over. He looked down at it, and then quickly away. His toes and imagination had been correct. There, lying face up on the cement floor, was the body of a portly man in his mid fifties. He was naked and bloated, his skin bruised and slipping, face unrecognizable in its state of decay.

Again, Dean swallowed back the acrid brew that tried to sneak into his mouth and turned away.

Y/N pulled away from Dean, seemingly calmed by the revelation of their cell mate. She looked down at the body like she was looking at a puzzle piece. “Well, that explains the smell,” she said with a slight, crazed laugh. “I didn’t want to say anything…but there we are.”

Dean stared at her with wide green eyes, trying to recover from the whiplash that her attitude change had given him. She had gone from hysterics to Sherlock in three seconds flat, and Dean’s brain rattled in his skull.

“Yeah, delightful,” he croaked. “What now?”

Y/N tilted her head and looked at the door. A folded slip of paper was taped to the middle, and she hopped over the corpse to check it out.

“Huh, he left a note,” she announced as she ripped the paper from its place.

“How do you know it’s a he?” Dean asked, carefully stepping around the dead man to spy the letter.

“Women don’t come up with psycho shit like this place. We want someone dead, we kill them. This…” she waved a hand around, gesturing to the room. “Is insanity.”

Dean considered this and shrugged. “Good point. What’s the note say? ‘Roses are red, that body is blue, one wrong step and I’ll kill you’?” He gave her a smirk, waiting for acknowledgement of his joke, but Y/N ignored him.

She gripped the paper between her hands and read the carefully typed note aloud. “Your exit lies in the key to every man’s love.” Y/N looked at Dean and sneered. “Fucking riddles, dude. I hate riddles.”

“Could be worse,” he shrugged.

“Really? How?”

“I have no idea.”

As Y/N stared at the clue and turned it over in her mind, Dean paced the room, keeping to the edges of the walls to avoid the stinking body.

“The key to a man’s love…” she whispered to herself. “You think maybe the key is in this dude’s heart? Like, the literal key to this room?”

Dean shook his head as he walked. “Maybe? Sam is better at this shit.”

“Fuck. Sam.” Y/N’s eyes narrowed as worry gripped her again. “You think he’s OK?”

“I’m sure he’s fine,” Dean assured her. “Probably going nuts trying to find us- oh!” His foot hit a hard piece of metal that rolled away from him, and he bent to pick it up. It was a small ice pick; a long thin spike sunk into a worn wooden handle. He held it up to show Y/N and gave her a sad smile. “I guess we’re supposed to play operation.”

“That’s just disgusting.”

The friends knelt down on either side of the poor man, each cringing as the smell grew worse.

Dean swallowed hard and poked the body lightly with the pick. “So, white meat or dark?”

“Oh God,” Y/N gagged. “Uh… what would the heart be? Dark, I guess. Go for it.”

“I carve, you dig, deal?”

Y/N looked up to a Dean wink and glared. “Whatever. Just do it.”

Dean raised his arm with the icepick held tight and prepared to drive it into the man’s breastbone. “Here goes nothing.”

As his hand came down, Y/N stopped him with an excited shout. “Wait!”

Dean sat back and frowned. “What now?”

“Not the heart,” she explained. “The key to a man’s love… his heart, if you will, is through his…”

“Stomach,” Dean finished, catching her drift. “Nice. I mean, gross, but nicely done.”

Y/N grinned. “Thanks. Now… get to carving.”

The pick was sharp, but just a pick. Halfway through the belly fat, Dean was regretting his choice in tasks. He stabbed a line to perforate and then had to peel the flesh back with his hands, all the while fighting his gag reflex.

Y/N sat by in wait, pulling up her shirt to cover her nose and mouth, but it did nothing to staunch the putrid smell. “This dude is ripe.”

“Not helping,” Dean groaned as he dug through the innards. He hit his goal depth and pulled out, handing the tool over to Y/N. “Your turn.”

“You’re already mucky. You can keep going…” She gave him an innocent smile, but Dean was having none of it, so she took the pick and went to work. “So what’s your guess here?” She asked, trying to distract herself from the fact that she was wrist deep in a rotting abdominal cavity. “Bored demons?”

Dean pushed back from the body and leaned against the wall. “No clue. Seems unlikely though. Why go to all this trouble? Riddles and needles and water features? What’s the endgame?”

Y/N shrugged. “You are a Winchester; you do seem to bring out the crazy vengeance in a lot of monsters. Fuck!”

“What?” Dean sat forward, squinting at her.

She flicked a bit of goo from her hand and held up a tiny brass key. “Yatzee!”

“Awesome,” he said, pushing himself up off of the floor. “Let’s see what fresh Hell awaits us next door.”

Y/N laughed and cringed at the mess on her fingers. “I certainly hope it’s fresh.”


	5. Some Fresh Hell

Y/N wiped her hands on her thighs, streaking the soft denim with putrid muck as she followed Dean into the next room.

Unlike the last, this room was fully lit, although having vision wasn’t necessarily a good thing. The door shut automatically behind them, sealing itself like an airlock, and Dean and Y/N looked around at the empty space. The walls were white and round, curving around the perimeter of a white tile floor that was lined with grate vents. The ceiling was low, and Dean could surely have laid his palm flat against it if he tried.

“Another dead end,” Y/N sighed and ran her hand along the wall to her right, finding no seams in the structure. She tapped her fingers against it and it echoed dimly in response. “It’s metal. What the fuck? What is this, a silo?”

“Or a shipping container?” Dean shrugged as he looked around.

“No, those are corrugated. This is more like… I don’t even know what this is like. Where the fuck are we?”

“I wish I knew.”

Y/N threw in the towel on her search for a secret panel. There was only one door, the one they’d come through, and it was sealed shut. Giving up, she pressed her back against the wall and slowly slid down to the floor, folding up her knees as she sank. She rested her blood stained arms on her legs and pushed her head back, closing her eyes.

Dean stopped and looked down at her. “What are you doing?”

“Taking a nap,” she replied without looking back.

“You really think that’s the best use of your time?” he scoffed.

With a growl, her eyes popped open to glare at him. “I’m tired. I’m hungover. I was drugged, drowned, made to dig through a rotting corpse. I’ve cried so much in the last two hours I’m probably dehydrated. There’s no way out of this room. Just let me rest while we wait for the inevitable.”

Dean sank down beside her, bumping her shoulder with his. “I’m sorry,” he said, letting his head fall back against the cold metal wall.

Y/N turned to look him over. He looked just as exhausted as she felt. “What have you got to be sorry for? It was my idea to have a drink in Hell. And, you already saved my life once today. Whatever you need to apologize for, don’t. We’re cool, dude.”

“I know,” he sighed and stretched his long legs out, crossing his ankles. “I just…”

“I know; apologetic is your default setting.” She smiled and lay her head on his shoulder.

“You really think so?”

Y/N nodded. “Dean, I have never met someone who clings to their guilt as much as you. It’s like a security blanket for you. You’re Linus and Guilt is your blankie.”

The image made them both laugh, and Dean pressed a quick kiss to her forehead. “We’re gonna get out of here. Whatever it is, we’ll make it out.”

“I know.” She smiled and hugged his arm tightly. “I believe in you.”

“You should believe in you too,” he corrected. “You gutted that poor son of a bitch like a trooper.”

Y/N shuddered. “Please, don’t remind me. I’m never gonna sleep again.”

~

Sam tracked Dean’s phone to a little Italian restaurant downtown, not far from the motel. His hopes were high, but wrongly so, as he discovered the phone stashed in a trash container behind the building.

He was tired, frustrated, and running out of ideas. Local law enforcement was lacking in intelligence and cooperation, even after Sam had flashed his FBI credentials. They wanted nothing to do with helping him out, and the Sheriff had even shrugged and commented, “Tourists go missing all the time.”

Sam had clenched his jaw so tightly at that he almost cracked a tooth. He was going to find his brother and bring Y/N home even if he had to rip the entire town apart brick by brick.

After retrieving Dean’s cell from underneath a heap of moldy garlic bread, Sam gave the dumpster a swift kick and spun around, temporarily giving in to his frustrations. He let out a yawp that reached through the alley as he lifted his eyes to the clear blue sky. “Come on!”

While there was no reply, he did find something near the roof that sparked his interest. Hoping he was onto something, Sam sprinted down the alleyway and peeked around the street, lifting his eyes to the corner of each building. A smile spread across his face as his tired mind returned to a state of hopefulness.

The town was lined with CCTV cameras.

~

“I’m hungry,” Dean announced, and a rumble from within backed him up.

Y/N chuckled against his shoulder. “Why am I not surprised?”

“Don’t laugh at me. I’m a big guy; I need to eat.”

“Only Dean Winchester would be dreaming of cheeseburgers while trapped in some psycho hotel.”

Dean shrugged, smiling at her amusement. “Don’t forget the bacon,” he added.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“And extra onions.”

“You’re so gross. Do you have any idea what you smell like after all those onions? It seeps from your pores.”

Dean pushed away, flinching in defense. “Me? Have you smelled your boyfriend? He stinks up the whole car!”

Y/N pursed her lips. “Sam smells like heaven. You are the stinky one.” She leaned back over and took a whiff to confirm her statement and immediately coughed. “What the fuck is that?”

“Come on, that’s not fair, I haven’t showered-”

“No!” She pushed away and looked around in a panic. “Dean! There’s gas!”

Sure enough, white smoke was slowly flowing up from the grates in the floor, wafting through the air like fog on a lake.

“Fuck!” Dean scrambled to his feet and fought with the door as Y/N stood motionless against the wall.

She tried to hide, to press herself into the curved metal, but there was nowhere to go. Gas blanketed the floor now, covering each inch as it crept upwards.

“Dean…” she called to him, barely able to hear herself over the frantic beat of her heart. “It’s…this is a fucking gas chamber!”

“Huh, I thought I killed Hitler.” Dean joked, trying to distract her once again from impending doom.

“Now’s not the time for jokes!” she scolded and spun around to claw at the walls in search of an exit. Her fingers slid off the smooth walls as the smoke rose higher. There was nowhere to go.

“Not like this. Please!” Y/N lifted her chin to the ceiling as tears streamed down her face. “Let me die kicking ass, not smoked like a brisket!”

“Look who’s cracking jokes now.” Dean managed a quick laugh before a coughing fit overtook him. He gave up on the door and rushed over to Y/N, grabbing her shoulders to get her to focus. “Just stay calm,” he said, and received a vicious glare in reply.

The gas was around their waists now, and the sour smell pierced Dean’s nose. He lifted the collar of his damp flannel and covered his face, gesturing for Y/N to do the same. The smoke drifted higher, and their clothing did little to stop its effects. Dean felt his body weaken, his head begin to pound. His vision blurred and he took Y/N’s hand, holding her tightly.

“I don’t think…” he choked out between shallow breaths, “…it’s not gonna kill us. Feels like…”

Y/N looked up at him with glassy eyes and her hand went slack in his. Dean caught her just as she began to fall, her legs giving out, and her eyes rolling back. As his own body struggled against the anesthetic gas, he carried Y/N over to the wall and slumped down with her cradled in his arms. He was in the thick of the gas now, muscles twitching, heart slowing. There was nothing he could do; no way to stop it. Dean locked his arm around Y/N’s shoulders and let go; his mind slipping away as his eyes fell shut.


	6. Bloody Hell

In the end, it was just like falling asleep. As if he had been pulling an all-nighter at the computer and simply could not fight the slow dropping of his eyes any longer. It didn’t hurt, it felt a little strange, but there wasn’t any real pain; at least not the kind of pain that he was used to. The worst part, really, was not knowing what was going to happen. The fear of why, and what, and not being able to stop it was the hardest bit; the letting go was easy.

Dean woke up slowly. His head rolled to the side in that way that made him feel like he was falling. He sucked in a deep breath as his eyes popped open, and gradually, feeling came back to the rest of him as the oxygen flooded his brain. It worked on the most important parts first, telling his lungs to fill, his heart to speed up, his vision to clear. He gave his head a little shake and blinked a few times to get things moving. He breathed deeply, sending fresh air into his body next, feeling it spread through his arms and down each finger, into his chest and stomach, and down to his toes. His limbs tingled and he wiggled his hands and feet, desperate to stretch out and ease the ache that consciousness had revealed, but as he tried to move, he realized he was stuck; tied with tight blue twine to a chair. Dean twisted his wrists and found he had a little give, so he kept at it, wiggling his way out of the binding as he looked around.

The room was filthy and dimly lit. The large rectangular subway tiles that lined the walls were yellowed with age and splattered with dried brown blood in various patterns. A large, round surgical light flickered above him, casting eerie yellow light around the room. He followed the beams and looked down, finding Y/N strapped to a steel table a few feet away. She was still out cold, held down by thick black straps across her shoulders and legs, her arms stretched out on either side, locked to the table.

Dean called to her, but his voice was barely a whisper, his mouth dry and stinging from the gas. He cleared his throat and licked at his lips before trying again. “Y/N!”

She stirred a bit, fingers and eyelids twitching slightly, but did not wake.

Dean struggled with the rope behind his back and, focusing on Y/N, called up a wave of strength. He groaned as the twine dug into his wrists, rubbing them raw, but he broke free and the muscles in his arms thanked him. After untying his ankles, he wobbled to standing and rushed to free his friend.

“Hey, Y/N.” Dean patted her cheek and her head rolled. “Come on, Kid, wake up!” A sharp crack of his palm against her face did the trick and Y/N gasped as she came to, trying to sit up, but trapped by the straps across her chest.

“Dean?” Her eyes were unfocused and red, darting from his face to their horrid surroundings and back, each movement narrowing her lids with fear. “Where are we?”

Dean sighed and fought with his answer. “I don’t think you want to know. Just hang on, let me get you up.”

He opened the velcro on the strap that bound her chest, and then the patch across her legs. As he leaned over her to free her left arm, he could feel her breathing, quick and sharp; too fast, too erratic. “Hey, Y/N… just relax. Deep breaths.” He took her face in his hands and forced her to look up at him. “You gotta slow down or you’re gonna pass out on me. We’ve had enough of a nap for today, don’tcha think?” He smiled and she closed her mouth, nodding in agreement and pulling a deep breath through her nose. “That’s it. Nice and easy.” He ran his hand gently over her forehead and smoothed back a mass of sweaty hair. “You OK?”

“Yeah.” She was calming down, still shaking, but trying her best.

Dean gave her another quick smile and moved to release her right arm. While he undid the strap, he noticed a patch of blood on her shirt sleeve, and lifted it to look beneath. He clenched his jaw and tried not to call attention to the blood soaked bandage taped to her forearm just below the crook of her elbow.

“What is it?” Y/N asked, seeing the look in his eyes.

Dean shook his head. “Nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

Not at all convinced, she yanked her arm free and sat up, pulling the sleeve up to reveal the gauze. “Oh, what the fuck?” Tears instantly flooded her eyes and she looked up at the ceiling, trying to keep them away.

“It doesn’t matter,” Dean told her firmly. “Let’s just get out of this room and we’ll deal with it later.”

Y/N’s mind agreed, but her body did not, and she started to tremble, her torso quaking and drawing her shoulders inward with quick jerks.

Dean closed his eyes and took a breath. He tried to find the words needed to comfort her, but there was nothing. He couldn’t tell her it would be OK; it would be a lie, and she would see right through him. It would have to be tough love.

He leaned down and set his hands on the table on either side of her hips and stared her down. “Listen to me. You gotta pull it together.” His voice was hard and mean, but it was working. Y/N froze and stared back, fighting with herself to get a grip. “This is a huge pile of shit, but we will get through it. I need you to lock the door on your panic and man up! I need you. Stay with me. Can you do that?”

Y/N swallowed hard and nodded quickly. She pushed it all aside; the pain and the fear, and grit her teeth. “Yeah. I’m with you.”

“There’s my girl.” Dean pecked her forehead and gave her shoulder a squeeze. “Now, let’s figure this one out and move along. I’m fucking tired of this shit.”

Y/N laughed. “Seriously. This is like one of those games online where you fight your way out of the locked rooms,” she mused as she stood up and teetered a bit on weak legs, trying to ignore the sharp pain in her left thigh. “I never beat those.”

“Well, we’re gonna beat this one.” Dean was already at the door, testing the knob. It was unlocked, but the door was held shut by a large steel bar closed with a rusted padlock. He eyed it closely, calculating what it would take to open it, and then searched around him for a pick. There was a tray table by the door laid out with medical instruments and he ran his fingers over each, deciding where to start.

Y/N took a step and then gripped her side as pain shot through her middle. She lifted her shirt and cringed when she saw a bloody square of gauze taped to her stomach, just like the one on her arm. “Dean…”

He ignored her, and picked up a rusted scalpel, examining it closely before deeming it no use.

Y/N leaned back against the table and carefully peeled off the tape around her bandage, choking back a sob when she saw a bloody X carved into her flesh. She gingerly pressed down on the wound and felt something hard and small beneath the surface as fresh blood seeped from between thick, black stitches. “Dean…”

He let out an exasperated breath and spun around. “What? I’m trying to get us out of here. Look around for a key or something.”

Y/N bit her lip and looked back at him, annoyed and hurting. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you,” she said. “I think I found the key.”

“Where?”

She pointed at her stomach. “X marks the spot, right?”

His shoulders fell as his eyes dropped to the wound. “Fuck.”

“Yeah.” She tapped her foot nervously and then climbed up onto the table. Her heart was racing again as she imagined what was coming. “Just uh… hurry up.” She laid back and lifted her shirt, trying to settle down and stay calm.

“No,” Dean said quickly. “I can pick the lock. I’m not cutting into you.”

Y/N lifted her head to look at him. She pushed back frightened tears and pleaded in a calm, straight forward voice. “I’m sure you can,” she said quietly. “But, there is still a key… inside of me… and I need you to get it out.”

Dean shook his head violently and turned away, running his hands through his hair; out of answers, out of luck. “No.”

“Dean, please. I…I can’t do it myself.”

He didn’t look back, but he could see her face in his mind, and it tore him apart. With fists and jaw clenched tight, he picked up the scalpel once more and prepared to go to work. He walked slowly to the table, steeling himself while Y/N pulled the strap back over her legs, and then laid down again.

“You may want to strap me back in,” Y/N said, out of breath and shivering. “I’m not gonna hold still on my own.” She gave him a short laugh and a smile that he did not return.

Dean nodded solemnly and fit the strap back into place across her chest, pulling it tight. When she was secure, he pushed her shirt up and away, giving him enough room to work. As gently as he could, he touched her stomach, feeling around for the hard metal key that was trapped inside. He pressed the blade to her skin and took a breath.

“I’m sorry, Y/N/N,” he whispered.

“It’s OK, Dean,” she assured him. “Just do it.”

Blood flowed down her side onto the dull steel table. Dean cut slow and careful, trying not to make the wound any bigger or cause her too much pain. Y/N grit her teeth, clenched her fists at her sides, dug her nails into her palms, bit her cheek, anything to distract herself. When all else failed, she began to hum, and then, as she felt Dean’s fingers inside the wound, the hum formed into words and she sang under her breath.

“Karma, karma, karma, karma chameleon…” She paused and bit back a scream as he dug even deeper. “You come and go…come and go…”

“Boy George?” Dean asked, looking up for a second to question her life choices. “Really?”

“Shut up,” she said and forcefully whacked her head back against the table to defer some pain. “It’s the first thing that popped up.”

“I think you missed a ‘karma’,” he joked and then let out a sigh. “Got it.” He pulled away and held up a small key, showing her the bounty before pressing the used gauze back onto the wound. He grabbed her right hand and pushed it against the bandage. “Hold this tight. I’ll be right back.”

Y/N pressed down hard and watched Dean rush over to the door. He lifted the padlock and jabbed the key into the slot, but it didn’t fit. “Son of a bitch!” he growled and threw the key down onto the dirty floor.

“Don’t say that,” Y/N whimpered from the table, lifting her head to try and see what he was doing.

“It’s not the right key,” Dean said simply as he turned back to her and scrubbed a hand down his face. “What do we do?”

Y/N’s chest was heaving, her heart beating like a bass drum. She looked around the room, her vision going in and out of focus. “Well,” she said, trying to concoct a plan. “First, you’re gonna get that box of gauze by the door and stop me from bleeding out.” She nodded to a cabinet behind Dean and waited until he grabbed the supplies. “Then you’re gonna get the next key out of me.”

“What key, Y/N/N?” He was tired and done, ready to quit, his spirit fading with each step he took.

“The one in my arm.”

Dean taped up her side as best he could, not finding anything to stitch her back up with. Y/N stayed amazingly calm as he worked, finding a reserve of strength deep down that kept her going. She called up Sam’s face again and tried to focus on it; to count the flecks of blue in each of his eyes, to remember the softness of his lips, the warmth of his arms. She barely paid attention as Dean lifted her right arm and set it in place on the movable arm on the table and strapped it down. She didn’t feel him pull back her sleeve or peel the tape from her skin. When the scalpel pierced her arm, she jumped, startled back into herself, and let out a pathetic cry.

Dean sucked in a breath and met her desperate gaze. “I’m so sorry, Kid. Just hold still.”

“It’s OK. Keep going.” She held her breath as warmth oozed down her arm, and she shut her eyes, trying to block out the sensation. “Dean?”

“Yeah, Y/N/N?”

“Sing me a song.”

He gave her a startled laugh. “What? No, I’m no singer. That’ll just make this worse.”

Y/N cringed as the blade worked it’s way through her. “Please? Just distract me.”

Dean shook his head, but did as she asked, picking a melody and delivering it off-key under his breath. “There’s a lady who’s sure, all that glitters is gold…” He sliced through her again, widening the cut so he could find the key. “And she’s buying a stairway to heaven.” He wiped at the blood that poured out, and slid his fingers inside as Y/N cried out. “When she gets there she knows, if the stores are all closed…”

“Dean!” Y/N howled, her voice tight with pain. “Shut up!”

“I told you I sucked,” he answered and sneered as he yanked the metal from her arm.

“Fuck!” She gasped in relief when his fingers pulled back, but a wave of dizziness hit her full force and the room began to spin. “Hurry up,” she begged.

Again, Dean ran to the door, and again the lock remained unopened. Dean wiped at his face in distress, leaving behind a swipe of Y/N’s blood across his forehead.

Y/N called to him from across the room, her voice shaky and faint. “Keep going.”

“Where, Y/N/N!” he yelled. “There’s nowhere else to look!”

She shook her head slowly and lifted her chin, looking down at her jeans. “My leg. I can feel it. Left side.” Her breath was short and her eyes danced around the room, pain and blood loss threatening to pull her under.

Dean shook his head, not wanting to continue, but he sucked it up and went to her. “Where is it?”

“My thigh. I felt it when I stood up, but I didn’t know…” Her head fell back and she closed her eyes, dizzy and nauseated.

“It’s OK, I’ll get it out. Just hang in there, please.”

Dean bit his lip and unbuttoned her jeans, carefully slid down the zipper and hooked his thumbs along the waistband. Y/N lifted her hips and held her breath as Dean slowly pulled the denim down to sit around her knees. He took a step back and looked down at his friend, eyes filling with tears as he saw the blood that caked her thigh. The gauze was soaked through, barely holding, and he cursed the world and the mysterious monster that had done this to her.

“Well, this is awkward,” Y/N joked, trying to lighten the mood. “But don’t worry, I won’t tell Sam you saw me in my panties.”

“Y/N…” There were no jokes left in him, no laughter born of adrenaline or distraction. He was done.

“Dean.” She reached for his hand, wagging her fingers at him, and he moved to meet her. She squeezed him as tightly as she could and let out a deep breath. “Let’s finish this, OK? I wanna go home.”

Her eyes rolled as he dug the key from her flesh, trying to work as quickly but carefully as he could. The wound bled more than the others, and the table was soon bathed in crimson beneath her. She stayed quiet, almost numb to the pain; focusing on each breath and willing the room to stop turning circles around her.

Dean soon had the key in his grasp, and he ran to the door, easily sliding it into the lock and popping it open. He nearly crumbled in relief when the mechanism gave, and he turned back to Y/N with a smile. “We’re out.”

Her head rolled to the side and her lips curled just slightly around the edges. “I knew you could do it,” she sighed as her eyes fell shut.


	7. Highway to Hell

Dean let Y/N sleep. He bent his ear to her lips and checked her breathing, placed two stained fingers to her throat and timed her pulse. It was there, but faint. She stirred just a bit, but stayed asleep, exhausted and defeated by her hack job surgeries.

With the door unlocked and no obvious time constraints, Dean took care patching her up. He had rifled through the busted cabinet against the wall and found some supplies, although not nearly all that he needed. He cleaned her cuts as best he could without water or chemicals, and used the few inches of thread he found to stitch the holes he’d reopened. There wasn’t enough to do it properly, but they would hold. They had to; he didn’t have a choice. What she really needed was a hospital; but that luxury would have to wait.

As he worked, Dean went over everything in his mind; from their abduction in the alley straight through to this moment. He tried to assign some meaning to it all, to conjure up a creature to place the blame upon, but he came up short. There seemed to be no answers. There was no unearthly magic at play, no typical monster actions. It was simply Hell; and they had to navigate it wisely.

Y/N murmured in her sleep, her voice sounding at the end of a deep breath. “Sam…” Her eyelids twitched and her brows tightened, distressed by her dream.

Dean shushed her softly and placed his hand on her cold cheek, trying to pull her gently out of the nightmare. She settled and took a breath, but Dean took on her pained expression.

He had been through worse, sure, but Y/N hadn’t. She was a damn good hunter, damn good, but her experience lay mostly in research and smaller cases. She had never been tested like this, and Dean knew he had to pull her through. He blinked back tears at the thought of losing her; he saw Sam’s heartbreak as well as his own. She was Sam’s love, but Dean’s friend. A cool chick who could keep up with him in most things, in the food department as well as the comedic front, and she kept Sam occupied when Dean needed a break. They loved her, needed her, and Dean was going to do what he had to do to bring her home safely.

When the supplies were gone, and Dean’s eyes were dry, he woke her up; gently shaking her shoulder and calling her name.

“Hey, Y/N/N. We gotta keep moving.”

She blinked up at him, took a deep breath to clear her senses, and sat up. She cringed at the pain in her side, but managed a smile. “You let me sleep in? That’s not like you.”

Dean chuckled and shrugged. “Thought you could use the extra Zs.”

“Hmm, thanks.” A shiver worked its way through her body and she went with it, using it to wake her limbs and get the blood flowing. “So what’s for breakfast? I want donuts.”

Dean shook his head and smiled as he helped her down off of the table. “I wish.”

~

Sam had scoured hours of video footage from every possible security and traffic camera on the main road.

He watched in green and black images as Dean and Y/N made their way out of the bar. He smiled as they stopped to chat for a moment in the middle of the sidewalk and shared a hug, drunk and happy. When Dean jumped and took off towards a dark alley, Sam leaned forward, almost pressing his nose to the screen, and quickly changed cameras, allowing him to follow their journey. It was too dark to make much out, but the zoom helped, and Sam was able to watch, although painfully, as a large, hooded figure took Y/N from behind and pulled her away. Dean spun circles, obviously searching for her, and then the attacker was back, sneaking up behind an inebriated Dean and taking him down. Sam saw a tiny flash of metal right before Dean fell, and he paused the playback, ordering the image to zoom in further. He clearly saw the needle that took them both down, and a partially obscured glimpse at the perp’s face.

Sam advanced the image in microsecond increments, staring hard at the man. There was no abnormality in his features, no fangs to be seen, no flash of black eyes. He was just a man. Sam balled his fist and sat back, exhausted and worried. He let a wave of anger wash over him for just a second, feeling hurt and pissed and anxious all at once. Mad at Y/N for needing to stop for drinks. Mad at Dean for going along with it. Mad at himself for leaving them alone. Fucking pissed as all Hell at the man who stole them away. One thing was clear in his mind: he was going to track them down and rip the evil son of a bitch apart. He was bringing his family home; that was that.

~

When they finally opened the door, neither was very excited. Y/N stepped inside and gasped at what lay before them. The room was long and narrow and lit by eerie red lights. Their goal, the door at the far end, was surprisingly wide open, but their journey would not be an easy one. Strewn across the entire room, like a web spun by a murderous spider, was a battlefield of thick razor wire. It crisscrossed from floor to ceiling, pulled tightly by hooks on the walls, and wove a deadly path for the weary duo.

Tears filled her eyes, but Y/N stayed strong, calling up her love of games to try and find a clear path through.

Dean landed at her side and huffed loudly. “This… is… fucked.” He turned to Y/N who did the same; a tired and worried look passing between them. “We are fucked.”

“No…” Y/N said, trying to bat the idea away and give him a pep talk. “We got this. And look, the door is wide open. All we have to do is Catherine Zeta Jones our asses through a maze of rusty, flesh piercing lasers and…” As she spoke, the door behind them slammed shut and a giant clock lit up above their exit. “Um…” They watched as bright green digital numbers appeared, flashing for an instant before the countdown commenced. “Uh… ya know… get through this before our fifteen minutes is up, apparently. Fuck!” She spun around and held her head in her hands, taking deep breaths to steady herself.

“OK,” Dean said as he bounced on his heels, preparing to dive forward. “We can do this. A little barbed wire never stopped me before.”

Y/N released a heavy breath that rumbled her pursed lips and nodded in agreement. “Yeah, this is… a cake walk. A very deadly, fast-paced, cake walk. Easy peasy.” Her stomach flipped as she neared the first rope of wire and fear gripped her heart. “Ya know, on second thought… you go ahead. I’ll just wait here and you can come back for me later. What’s the worst that’ll happen? The door locks? Been there, done that.” She smiled up at Dean who did not delight in her idea.

He shook his head and grabbed her arm, pulling her forward. The clock ticked away, now announcing a terrifying thirteen minutes left. “Come on,” he said and pulled the sleeves of his flannel down over his hands to serve as a barrier against the sharpened metal. Y/N bit her lip, groaning obstinately, but did the same, and the hunters began their trek.

Holding down the wires as much as they could, Y/N and Dean slipped through the first layer, and then the next, relatively unscathed, but the clock kept ticking, and they were moving too slowly. They quickened their pace, kneeling and crawling and bending through the hellish labyrinth, groaning and yelping every few seconds when the barbs caught their skin. There was nowhere to rest, no way to stand up and uncurl themselves after a pass through, and their bodies protested every step.

The metal pulled at their clothing, tearing through and scratching their bodies; it stabbed their cheeks and drew droplets of crimson that ran down to stain their shirts. Dean moved ahead rather quickly, but was tripped up when he looked back to check on Y/N and took a wire to the side of his head. The barb snagged his ear and ripped his flesh as he tried to pull away. The pain startled him, and he fell, landing on the next rope and forcing the metal into his ribs. He grit his teeth but could not stifle the shout that tore through him, crying out at the sudden pain. Y/N raced forward to help him, and together they pried the spikes from his side.

“You alright there, Klutz?” Y/N joked as she pulled the last needle from his chest.

Dean coughed and sneered at her. “Yeah, thanks.” He clutched his side and took a breath. They were only halfway through the maze, and time was wasting away. “You need to hurry up,” he scolded and turned back towards the door.

“I’m going as fast as I can,” she huffed and wiped a mix of sweat and blood from her forehead.

“Six minutes,” Dean reminded her, nodding up at the clock before fitting his left leg through a reasonably sized gap in the wire.

Y/N sighed and looked around for an opening. “I fucking hate this place.”

“You wanted to stop in Hell,” Dean laughed as he navigated the web. “Wouldn’t it be fun to have a drink in Hell?” he mocked, raising his voice in a horrible impression. “I so, like, totally want to go to Hell.”

“Shut. Up!” She yelled, just as a bit of metal lodged itself in her upper arm. “And I don’t sound like a twelve year old Valley Girl, thank you very much!”

“Yeah, yeah,” he mumbled while pulling his head carefully through a hole. “As if.”

“I’m gonna smack you so hard when I get over there.” Her pant leg was snagged, and she fell forward, jamming her hands on the wire in front of her to save her chest from impalement. “God damn it!” 

“Just keep moving.”

The clock wound down and they pushed on, leaving torn bits of flannel and blood in their wake. Dean kept his eyes on the clock, using the decreasing numbers to egg him on. He was going to beat this; they both were.

“Dean!”

Just as he reached the end, Y/N called out to him in a panic. Dean pivoted, one foot still in the air, and saw her struggling behind him. Her long hair was caught on a mess of wire, and she growled painfully as she tried in vain to free herself. She was stuck between three strands of metal, almost suspended in the air, and she couldn’t see to pull herself free.

“Ya wanna help me!” she hollered, and Dean put his foot back down, shaking his head as he retraced his steps to reach her.

“This is why you shouldn’t have long hair, Y/N/N,” Dean said as he yanked a lock free. “I keep telling you…”

“Yeah, Dean. This is why. Because you clearly had this planned.” She huffed and pulled at another bit, only serving to make it worse. “Just get me out!”

She was tangled good; snared and defeated by her one girly pleasure. Dean eyed the countdown as he pulled and twisted, but she was pretty damn stuck.

“Y/N/N… I’m sorry,” he said sadly as he pulled the bloody scalpel from his pocket. He hadn’t known at the time why he held onto it, but he had a feeling it would come in handy; just not specifically like this.

“Why? What are you doing?” She tried to turn her head to see, but the angle was wrong. “Dean?”

“Hold still.”

“Like I have a choice!” she growled and then felt her head fall forward slightly, one bit of hair released from its tether. “Oh my God, you got it?”

Dean cringed and chopped off the next bit. “Not exactly…”

“What are you doing?” she asked in a panic as the pressure on her scalp was eased dramatically.

“Saving your ass,” he sneered and cut off the final snared lock. “Now go, fast!”

She didn’t look back, didn’t want to see what he’d done. She kept her eyes on the clock, heart beating in time with the bright numbers as they fell away.

With forty-five seconds left, Dean pulled her through the door, and they both collapsed onto the floor in the next room. A buzzer sounded behind them, and the portal slammed shut, closing the door on their bloody maze.


	8. Hell of a Problem

“That was fucking close,” Y/N commented as she pushed herself up off of Dean and settled against the wall. They were both covered in cuts from their foreheads to the pads of their feet; out of breath, yet pumping with adrenaline.

“Nothing like waiting till the last minute, Y/N/N,” Dean laughed. “Such a woman.”

“Well, excuse me,” she sassed. “Thanks for cutting me loose.”

Dean side-eyed her and cringed. “You know?”

Y/N shrugged and ran a hand down the back of her head, feeling the mangled hair that lay in various lengths. “Yeah,” she sighed. “I mean, how else?”

“Sorry.” 

“Eh, I was due for a new hairstyle. Saved me a trip to the salon.” She winked, but didn’t mean it, secretly mourning her beloved locks.

Dean sat back and let his head rest against the wall. He took a deep breath and then set his mind to the next task. The room was fairly well lit for once, and did not appear to have any malicious equipment ready to take them down. In fact, it was empty but for a small round table in the middle of the floor which held a tall clear cylinder. There was something inside, but Dean couldn’t make it out from his place on the floor, so he stood up to investigate, deciding to get the show on the road.

Y/N joined him in standing, but made her way passed the table to the door across the room. It wasn’t like the others they had seen; it was a narrow corrugated roll down door, with no latch or handle that she could find. She pushed at it, but it did not budge; hooked her fingers into the ridges and pulled upwards, but there was no give.

“Fun stuff,” she mumbled and turned to see what Dean was up to.

He stood over the table, looking down at the vessel, attempting to draw some clue from it. It was made of heavy plexiglass, sealed tightly around each edge, and was bolted down onto the table. A quick push told him it was going nowhere, and that revelation did not make him happy. Inside the jar was what appeared to be a push button, but there was no way to reach it. The top of the cylinder was closed by glass except for a small hole about the width of his thumb. Just for kicks, he stuck his left digit into the hole, but it was pointless; the button was too far down, he couldn’t reach it.

“Whatcha got there?” Y/N asked as she took the spot beside Dean. She peered down into the clear jug and frowned. “Seriously?”

“Yup.” Dean clicked his tongue and folded his arms, glaring down at their problem. “What’s up with the door?”

Y/N adopted his stance and reported her findings. “No handle. No lock. Stuck as fuck.”

“Awesome.”

The duo fell silent for a moment, trying to work through their predicament. The button had to be pushed, obviously, but how and for what purpose was not clear. Dean knelt down to try a different angle, hoping to see some way into the container besides the impassible hole in the top, and as he did, he noticed thin, black electrical wires extending from the base of the jar to underneath the table. He followed their path across the floor, stuck underneath a line of duct tape, to the wall and then up to the ceiling, where they met a black box that housed a tiny red light. From the box ran a bike chain that led to the door, an obvious pulley system, which, if activated, would set them free.

Y/N found the box in the same way that Dean had, and let out an exasperated groan as she clapped a hand to her forehead. “So,” she said softly, rubbing her temples, “we press the button, we trip the lock, we go free.”

“That seems to be the case, yes,” Dean said with a sigh.

“How? You got a stick?”

“I do not.”

“Fantastic.” Y/N rolled her head back in frustration and cursed at the ceiling. “I don’t know how much more of this I can take. It’s getting a bit ridiculous.”

Dean didn’t answer. He kept his eyes on the jar and let his mind work towards the obvious conclusion. Y/N left him there and walked around the edges of the room, looking for something they could use to trip the system. Not a scrap of wood or a bit of metal greeted her, and she kicked the door on her way back to Dean just to let out a bit of frustration.

“Any ideas?” she asked, reappearing at his side.

He nodded. “We fill up the jar.”

“Ah,” Y/N said, nodding in understanding, even though she did not fully catch his meaning. “With what?”

Dean bit his lip and rolled up his sleeve. “Blood.”

Y/N nodded once again before the word settled in her brain. When it did, she turned to him with wide eyes. “What! No. Dean, no.”

“You got any better ideas?”

She stammered to reply, but came up with nothing. “Dude… you can’t. That thing is huge. It’ll kill you.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a heavy breath. “Do you see a better way?” His voice was low and grim, and she knew he was right.

She swallowed hard and placed her hand on his arm. “Let me do it,” she said with a weak smile.

Dean looked up and shook his head slowly. “No. You’ve already lost enough blood today. I’m fully stocked. I’ll be fine.”

“Dean…”

“Y/N! Enough!” He bellowed and she shrank back, pulling away from him, not from fear, but in resignation. He was not going to allow her to bleed for them anymore today, and she just had to accept it.

Once again, the tarnished scalpel made an appearance, this time to cut through the tight skin of Dean’s forearm. He cut fast and deep, and the blood flowed freely down onto the beveled top of the container. It ran down, thick and slow, into the hole and beyond, pooling around the button at the bottom.

Y/N stood off to the side and watched as Dean pumped his fist, forcing his veins to work harder, causing the flow to increase. When the button was covered, Dean pulled away, clamping his right hand to his wound and holding his breath. Y/N came towards him and they both stared down at the table, waiting.

Nothing happened.

Dean growled and lay his arm back over the jar. He sliced through his flesh again, making another cut beside the first, and the waterfall began anew. Inches of crimson made their way slowly up the glass, but the button was still. They needed more weight to push it down, more blood.

Dean teetered a bit, his legs growing weak as the energy flowed from his veins, and Y/N snuck up underneath his arm to steady him. He grew pale, sweat appearing on his upper lip and brow, and she pressed her tattered sleeve to his face to clear it away.

“You can stop, Dean,” she whispered, feeling his skin grow cold under her hand.

“It needs more,” he murmured. His lips quivered, his eyelids fluttered, and Y/N held him tight.

“Hey,” she said, taking on a cheery tone to distract him and keep him conscious. “Did I ever tell you about the first time I saw you?”

Dean gave a clipped laugh. “Yeah. Tulsa. I was there, remember?”

“No, no,” she said with a smile. “That’s the first time you saw me. I mean the very first time I saw you.”

Dean turned his head to look down at her, his green eyes glassy and tired. “Where was it?”

Y/N wove her tale slowly and carefully as Dean bled into the container. She spoke of her father first: a big, bearded hunter named Joe, who had taken her on the road since she was a child. He kept her away from the Life as much as he could, but when her mother passed away suddenly, he had no choice but to load up his old pickup and take his young daughter along for the ride.

When Y/N was nine, Joe was struggling with a nest of vampires on the outskirts of Great Falls, Montana. Needing backup, he placed a call to an old friend, and Y/N sat in the truck at a rest stop while help arrived.

“Oh, the Impala. I heard the engine; it roared like a lion coming down the road towards us. I’ll never forget that sound. It practically shook the windows when it passed.” She smiled, caught in the memory. “Dad told me to stay put, but I couldn’t see, so I climbed into the driver’s seat to watch. I saw your dad, John, hop out and he and my father walked away a bit into the treeline to talk. I couldn’t hear anything, even with the windows down, so I kinda gave up and sat there all pissed off to be left out.”

Dean laughed softly. “That does sound like you.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not very patient.”

“Not at all.” He laughed again and then cringed. His heart was pounding and his vision blurred on the edges. He shook his head to clear it, but it made him dizzy and he slumped down onto Y/N.

“Hey, hey!” she called to him and slapped his cheek, which popped his eyes back open. “Stick with me. I haven’t gotten to the best part yet.”

Dean licked his dry lips slowly, and smiled out of habit. “Sorry. Continue.”

“So, I’m sitting there being pissy, and the back door of the Impala opens, and this tall, thin dude in baggy jeans and a black tee steps out. I watched him walk to the trunk and then hop on top of it, kinda lounging, stretching out.” She paused and let the memory form fully in her mind. “The sun was beating down on you, and you were… so hot, I thought.” She laughed.

“Still am,” he added.

Y/N nodded. “Well, duh. Anyway, you sat there for a while and I just watched you and thought, maybe I should go say hi, but by the time I got up the nerve, Dad was back and… we left. That was it. I never thought I’d see you again.” She looked away and sighed.

“I don’t remember that,” Dean said quietly. “Why didn’t you ever tell me?” 

Y/N shrugged. “I don’t know, it’s kind of embarrassing. A little… stalkerish, maybe.”

Dean shook his head, a little too fast and leaned heavier on her shoulders. “Nah, I think it’s nice,” he said. “Kinda like, you were destined to meet us, and fate brought you back after all those years.”

Y/N struggled to support his weight, but stayed strong. “I kinda feel like fate brought you to me, not the other way around. You saved my life in Tulsa.”

“You woulda been fine.” Dean sucked in a deep breath and started to shake, his body twitching as the river of Life continued to flow from his arm. His head rolled forward and to the side, coming to rest on Y/N’s, and she bit her lip, watching the red rise higher and higher inside the glass tube.

“Did you really think I was hot?” he asked with a smirk.

Y/N laughed. “I did at the time.”

“Don’t worry,” he whispered. “I won’t tell Sammy.”

His eyes rolled and Y/N called to him, frantically rubbing her fist against his chest, trying to keep him awake.

“Dean!”

Her shout was drowned out by a loud click as the button sank into the base of the container and successfully tripped the mechanism. The gate rolled up quickly behind them and Dean peeked over their shoulders.

“Hey,” he said weakly. “I did it.”

He fell then, collapsing into Y/N’s arms, sending them both crashing to the floor. Y/N rolled him carefully onto his back and ripped the hem of her flannel to tie around his arm. His breath was fast and she could almost see his pulse racing as the veins in his throat popped, but he held on, closing his eyes merely to rest for a moment.

Y/N lay a hand on his forehead and wiped away the cold sweat that covered him and matted his hair. “Yeah, you did, Dude. You did it.”


	9. Burn in Hell

Sam was losing his mind.

As the hours ticked away, he forged ahead but got few breaks. It seemed like every step forward was followed by two in reverse, and his head was aching. He knew he had imbibed more coffee in the last twenty-four hours than was probably healthy, but he had to keep going.

One big break came when Sam was able to capture a license plate number off of the video surveillance and track a black, six-passenger van to a house outside of town. The van had been at the right place at the right time, and all signs pointed to it being the vehicle that stole away Y/N and Dean. It had seemed promising, like everything was falling into place, but after kicking in the door, gun at the ready, he’d been once again sent back to the starting line. The house was empty and falling apart; the van abandoned in the woods nearby. Diving into the registration later, he learned that the van was in fact still under the name of Clark Bishop; one of the very first people to go missing a few years ago. The house was his as well, and Sam had hopes that perhaps he was alive and involved somehow with the kidnappings, but the clues led him nowhere. 

The local sheriff was still being a total dick, and despite Sam threatening him with the full wrath of the Federal Government, he was once again turned away empty handed. Hell was a small town, with barely any crime; they had a handful of businesses on the main road, and the state of Michigan didn’t even recognize it as a real town. So a few tourists went missing every year, what could you do?

Sam rubbed at his eyes, stretched his neck, and blinked pointlessly at the computer screen. His vision was blurred and his hands trembled. He needed to rest, if only for a little while. The strong pounding of his heart and the lightness in his head told him he was close to exhaustion; he could spare two minutes to close his eyes and reset.

He laid down on the big bed, the king sized surprise he had gotten especially for Y/N, and covered his eyes with his arm. The pillow was lumpy and the mattress firm; but it was nothing he wasn’t used to. After a lifetime in cheap motels and shaky backseats, Sam could fall asleep almost anywhere.

Memories of sight swirled in the blackness behind his eyelids, turning this way and that, pulling together to form the start of a dream; a daydream perhaps, as sleep had not yet fully claimed the tired man. The pixels twisted and formed into her face, and Y/N smiled at Sam as she lay down beside him, fitting her arms around his chest and nuzzling her cold nose into the crook of his neck.

In the vision, Sam flinched from the chill and turned on his side to embrace her. “You’re always so cold,” he said with a laugh and placed a kiss to the tip of her nose.

Y/N giggled and bit her lip as her hands slid down his firm chest. “I know,” she whispered. “That’s why I need you to warm me up.”

Sam smiled as the idea rolled on in his mind, but a loud dripping noise coming from the bathroom kept him from sinking into the dream fully. It pulled at his ears with every quick plop, and soon it was all he could focus on. 

With an aggravated growl, Sam said goodbye to his dream lover and pushed himself from the bed, storming into the room and slamming the door back against the yellowed tiles.

The shower was leaking, a constant pecking stream from the head that collected in a shallow pool in the tub. Sam ran a hand down his face and left the room, prepared to take his frustrations out on whatever poor soul happened to be at the front desk.

~

Y/N helped Dean to his feet, though she had tried insisting that he rest. She fit perfectly underneath his arm, and held him steady; one hand on his back, the other on his chest. He was dizzy and his breath was shallow, his cheeks were pale and his eyes heavy; but he wanted to push on. He leaned on Y/N and walked the ten short paces into the next room, each step bringing him back to himself a tiny bit.

The next room was dark, but not too dark. Light beamed in from the room they had just left, and allowed them an investigative glance around their next task. Like others before it, this one seemed to be clear of any immediate danger, and that scared Y/N even more than if they had been met with a firing squad. The room had no door but the one they entered from, and was a good size, the ceiling of normal height, walls plain with simple tan wallpaper. The only notable decor was a small three by five foot green rug in the center of the room. Its floral pattern was long ago faded, but the ghosts of roses remained, staining the pile like droplets of blood. Y/N stared at it for longer than was required as Dean got his legs back and pushed away from her gently.

“You OK?” she asked, watching him move away.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine.” His voice was thick and slow; he was drained and exhausted, but he’d be all right. He placed his hand on the wall and took a deep breath, looking over his shoulder at Y/N. “Do you smell something?”

She sniffed at the air and shrugged. “Not really?”

Dean cocked his head and then pulled his hand away from the wall, coming away with an oily substance that coated his fingers. He sniffed it and tried to place the smell; it was faint, as if it had been there a long while, but it was undoubtedly familiar. 

As Dean pondered and Y/N wandered, the roll down door fell shut, blocking them from retreat and cutting off their light source.

“Ya know, the longer I stay here, the more afraid of the dark I’m becoming,” Y/N mused as she felt her way back to Dean, keeping her right hand on the wall beside her. Two more steps and she walked right into a string hanging from the ceiling. “Hey, a light switch. Awesome.”

As her hand closed around the pull cord, Dean finally placed the smell.

“Y/N, the walls are soaked in kerosene…” He meant to inform her, not warn her, but the later should have been his goal.

She gave the cord a good yank, hoping to switch on a light bulb, but instead she lit a torch high above that sent heat and orange light pulsing down upon them. The pair looked up slowly as the fire crept across the ceiling, eating at the gas-soaked panels and burning bright.

“Holy fuck.” Y/N could barely speak as she watched the blaze grow.

Dean was silent, staring upwards, his jaw slack and his eyes wide. His breath stopped as the ceiling was engulfed entirely, and visions of Sam’s nursery flooded his mind. He saw Mary there, in the middle of the ceiling, her face locked in a scream, blood dripping from her gut.

Y/N ran to him, but he was immobile, gripped with terror that shattered his weary being. She shook his shoulders, but he couldn’t look away from the flames above. Giving up, Y/N ran to the door and tried to open it. She knew it was pointless, but she had to try. The air was boiling and smoke began to billow as the wood was charred. When Y/N looked back, the fire had begun its march down the walls, threatening to consume all.

“Dean!” she yelled as she pushed passed him, frantic to find a way out. “I’m gonna need you to come back to Earth now!” His shoulders fell and his lip quivered, but otherwise he was frozen in shock. It was her turn to play hero.

~

Sam stepped outside and growled at the rain, annoyed with the entire world and everything in it. He let the door slam behind him as he trudged off towards the lobby, walking around the back of the building since it was actually closer than going the other way.

For a motel in a small town, it was actually a rather large set up. The complex encompassed two separate wings that were connected by the main lobby and all together formed a giant U shape. Each side was two stories tall, and the parking lot took up the center. Sam kicked through puddles in the mostly empty lot and gave a passing glance to the left side of the building that was roped off and sheeted in plastic. ‘Coming Soon!’ the sign explained. ‘Efficiency Suites. Sorry for the inconvenience.’

Sam scoffed at the sign, releasing a bit of frustration at it as well. “Yeah, you will be sorry.” He sneered and tossed his head back to flick a bit of wet hair from his face.

The lobby was dry and he was thankful for that, but Sam was on a rampage. He rushed up to the high front desk and peered down at the man sitting behind it. He was rather tall, not nearly as tall as Sam, and quite broad, possibly even larger than Sam in the shoulders and overall width. He had dusty blonde hair that was parted to the side, and large, unflattering glasses that covered most of his face. He closed his laptop and smiled up at Sam when he leaned over the desk; it was an eerie customer service smile that made Sam’s skin crawl.

“Can I help you, sir?”

“Yes you can… Roger,” Sam said, reading from the man’s name tag. “I am extremely busy and my shower is leaking and the tub is clogged and it needs to be fixed immediately.” He sucked in a deep breath to puff out his chest, preparing to argue, but Roger simply smiled and nodded.

“Right away, sir. I’ll have Kevin take a look right now. Which room was it?” He lifted the desk phone and waited for Sam’s answer.

“Uh, twenty-seven.”

“All right, I’ll get that taken care of for you right away, Mr. Tyler.” Roger dialed the phone as he spoke and Sam spun away, taking a calming breath. As he turned, he noticed a coffee station by the window, and helped himself to his upteenth cup of the day.

The rain picked up and Sam watched it beat against the pavement, the drops bouncing back up to greet their friends. There was no lightning, no storm brewing; just a passing shower that darkened the town.

“So, are you in town for business or pleasure?” Roger sat up and peeked over at Sam, attempting to engage him in conversation.

Sam shrugged and took a sip of coffee. He was not really in the mood to chitchat, but maybe a distraction could help clear his head so he could focus. “Started out as pleasure,” he confessed. “Turned into business.”

Roger gave a little laugh. “Ain’t that always the way?”

~

The air crackled as the flames descended, licking at the walls and heating the air. Y/N had given up on Dean snapping back to life, and set her mind on rescue. Not sure what else to do, she picked up the ugly rug from the floor and attempted to beat back the flames with it. She swung at the walls, smothering the section closest to Dean, but as soon as she paused, the fire returned. It was hopeless. There was no door, no windows, no visible means of escape…

In her defeat, Y/N dropped her eyes to the floor and discovered their out. In the space where the rug had laid, was the outline of a trapdoor. She ran to it, falling to her knees to inspect the narrow square, and discovered a message carved into the hard wood.

This Way Out

The letters ended with an arrow that pointed to a handle that lay flush against the door. The brass glowed in the light from the flames around the room, and Y/N lifted it carefully. The door was exceedingly heavy, and she was only able to lift it a few inches before her hand slipped and sent it crashing back into place.

“Goddamn fucking hell hole what the fucking fuck!” She screamed; her voice swallowed by the roaring fires.

Y/N jumped to her feet and grabbed Dean, turning him to look at her. “Dude, I need you to cut the shit and focus!”

His eyes fell to hers, but he didn’t seem to register a thing.

“Oh, this brings me little joy,” she said with a sigh before rearing back and slapping him hard across the face. “Dean! Come on!”

The hit pushed him back into himself and Y/N watched as he blinked away the fear. He gave himself a little shake before running to the trap door with her. Together they lifted the portal and stared down into cold darkness.

“After you,” Y/N said with a wave of her hand.

Flames had taken the walls and moved on to the floor. It closed in around them, and Dean took a deep breath before jumping down into the hole. It wasn’t deep, maybe seven feet, and Dean lifted his hands to help Y/N get down.

“Such a gentleman,” she teased as his hands settled on her hips.

“Yeah, you know me,” he smiled and let her down.

Above them, a loud boom shook the floor as a beam from the burned ceiling fell, crashing down onto the spot they had just left. The beam fit perfectly across the trap door, and glowing embers lit their surroundings.

“That was close,” Y/N sighed, rubbing her arms as a shiver worked its way down her spine.

“I’m sorry about that,” Dean started to say, but Y/N shook her head. He didn’t have to explain anything; she knew, and it didn’t matter. They were in this together: facing fears, conquering death; their current predicament.


	10. The Road Through Hell

Dean had to bend down a bit to fit down the passage. He ducked his head, avoiding beams every few feet and led the way as Y/N shuffled behind him.

The walls were not walls, but dirt, same as the floor, same all around. Dean figured they were in a basement, but if he was being honest, he was trying not to think about it. Things moved in the dirt, things that slithered and crawled. Things with tails and legs and antennae and teeth. Things he’d rather not think about. He was sure Y/N was in the same frame of mind, though she made a little more noise than he, jumping and gasping every so often as something slithered through her peripheral vision. 

The light from the room of fire had only taken them so far, and now they walked in darkness. Dean kept one hand on the wall to his left, and Y/N’s fingertips gently grazed his back, keeping him within arm’s reach. The farther they walked, the darker it got, and slowly, Dean began to realize that he was crouching down more and more as the ceiling lowered itself in front of him. It was a gradual slope, but the floor did not turn as the ceiling did, and soon Dean was bent in half. He stopped then and fell to his knees, deciding to take a breather before he started to crawl.

“Hold up a sec,” he said, sitting back. He pressed his head against the dirt wall and heard Y/N fall down next to him. She whimpered as something crawled over her arm and she violently swatted it away.

Dean could hear her taking a deep breath that would surely come back out in tears, so he lifted his arm to shield her from the darkness, and pulled her against his chest. Her arm shot quickly around his middle and she clung to him, hiding her face in his shirt.

“This is so stupid, I’m sorry,” she laughed as she battled her tears. “Stupid girl can’t stand a few spiders.”

“Oh, it’s OK, Kid. Secret’s safe with me.” Dean gripped her arm and hugged her tight. He needed it too; he was just as scared. Not so much for the bugs; he knew there were worse things waiting for them, and that’s what was scaring him.

“Dean?” Y/N wiped at her eyes and sat up a little bit, trying to see him in the dark. “We’re…” She stopped before she could voice her pain, before she could tell him the worst of what she was thinking.

Dean’s hand found her cheek in the dark and he tucked a bit of hair back behind her ear. “What’s up, Y/N/N?”

“I don’t know,” she said quickly and shrugged his hand away. She huffed into the pitch and let her head fall back against the wall. “We’re gonna die here,” she said quietly. Dean shifted on the dirt, turning towards her, ready to fight, but she kept going. “I know you are going to keep us alive as long as possible, but… for how long? And until what? Sam’s not coming. He would have found us by now if he could. He’s probably dead too. We don’t even know if he’s alive. Maybe we’re already dead. Maybe… maybe this is Hell. Actual Hell, and we have to spend eternity almost dying every ten fucking minutes and doing horrible things just to end up somewhere else with new shit trying to kill us.” She sucked in a deep breath and turned to his shadowed face. “That’s it, isn’t it? We’re already dead. You’ve been to Hell, you know what it’s like. This is it.”

“No, Y/N.” He shook his head and searched for her hand in the dark. “This is not Hell,” he said firmly. “And we’re not dead. And, shit, Sam’s not dead either. He’s out there and he’s closing in on us. I know he is.”

“How do you know? It’s been… fuck, I don’t even know how long we’ve been here.”

“I know because it’s Sam. He’s always had my back and now’s no different. Besides, he’d never let you get away from him that easy, would he?”

Y/N laughed at the thought. “No, I guess he wouldn’t. Best and dumbest mistake of my life, falling for that man.”

“Yeah, well, I’m glad you did.” Dean said softly.

“Really?” Y/N asked in shock. “You always seem disgusted when we act all coupley.”

It was Dean’s turn to laugh. “That’s because you two are disgusting. But… you make him happy, and that makes me happy.”

Y/N pressed her chin to Dean’s shoulder and squinted up at him. “Thanks, Dean.”

“Alright, enough mush. Let’s keep moving.” Dean twisted away from her grasp and set himself up on his hands and knees. He took a breath and moved forward. “I feel like we’re about to stumble into Fraggle Rock.”

“Oh, I wish,” Y/N joked behind him. “I always wondered what Doozer Sticks tasted like. Damn, I’m hungry.”

~

While the bathroom in Sam’s room was being tended to, Roger kept him company in the lobby. The frazzled hunter opened up a bit, perching on the arm of a reading chair as he sipped his coffee and gave Roger the low down. He kept to his FBI story and gave the motel manager the synopsis of his case, omitting a few key points such as his relationship to the missing.

Roger listened intently, putting aside his game controller and laptop in favor of the real-life crime drama.

“That’s some crazy stuff,” he offered when Sam had concluded his tale. “I wouldn’t trust that Sheriff Waters as far as I could toss him.”

“Yeah,” Sam laughed. “He didn’t seem all that interested in helping.”

Roger looked out of the window, and Sam joined him, watching as the clouds parted and the rain eased.

“Hey, you said you’ve been interviewing people in town,” Roger offered, piquing Sam’s interest. “I’d go back to the bar, really lean on Old Maguire. He’s a real scumbag. I never trusted that jerk.”

“Really?” Sam gave him an inquisitive glance but nodded. “I will, thanks.”

~

Y/N watched the bloodied soles of Dean’s feet as they kicked up clouds of dust in front of her. They were both on their bellies now, crawling through the dirt, struggling as the walls and ceiling closed in. Not a speck of light lit their path; Dean moved by touch and instinct, praying that the end of the line would come before he lodged himself into a space he couldn’t back out of.

“Maybe we should go back,” Y/N said, her voice breaking the silence that surrounded them. The tunnel was long, and the space too tight; she knew she wouldn’t be able to turn back, but it seemed like a better idea than the claustrophobic nightmare she was in at the moment.

“How, Y/N/N? And go back to where? That room was on fire.” Dean growled and then coughed as bits of dirt floated up towards his nose.

“I know! I’m sorry!”

Dean dragged himself, pulling with his forearms and pushing with his feet, inching forward into the darkness. “This is by far… the worst… place… ever. When I find… the son of a… ” He stopped his complaining and movement when his head collided with something solid. “Son of a bitch!”

“What?” Y/N asked as she kept moving forward and crashed into Dean’s right foot. “Oophf!”

“Sorry,” Dean said and drew his legs up, trying to get as close as possible to the smooth wall that blocked their path. “There’s a… thing.” He ran his hands along the edges, looking for an opening, but finding none. There was no latch or handle or secret button waiting to be pushed.

“What kinda thing? Good thing or bad thing?”

Dean didn’t answer. He set his palms on the barrier and pushed as hard as he could. He felt it budge slightly and then tried again.

“Dean! Good thing or bad thing!”

He replied with a grunt as he shoved hard against the wall and felt it give. The panel moved a few inches inward and then fell away, landing with the loud sound of shattering glass on the floor below. Dean let out a victorious yawp and let himself relax for half a second as Y/N kept up her questions from far behind. Seven feet back, she couldn’t see what he could see; the next room was waiting, and Dean wasn’t too excited to get to it.

“Dean!”


	11. Facing Hell

Going back to the bar did nothing but give Sam a headache and definitively cross the owner off of his suspect list. Whatever info Roger had fed him was clearly misplaced, because the proprietor of Hell’s Tavern was anything but the Devil. He lingered in the bar for a little while longer however, having taken up Mr. Maguire on his offer of a round on the house.

Sam sat alone nursing a beer at the same table he had sat at with Y/N and Dean the night before. He was fast approaching seventy-two hours with them missing, and the longer it took to find them, he knew, the harder it would be to bring them home. As it was, the case was cold. Whoever had done this was crafty, skilled, and practiced at their felonies. They had left few clues behind, and the ones Sam did manage to pick up were false leads down the wrong rabbit holes.

Taking a long sip, Sam sat back in his chair and stretched his legs out underneath the table. He stared at the door, hoping in his exhaustion that his entire trip had been a dream. If he wished hard enough, maybe he would wake up back at home in his room in the Bunker, Y/N cuddled into his side, warm and happy and safe.

Sam wished until his eyes hurt from pressing them closed. He prayed until his teeth hurt from the pressure of his clenched jaw. Finally, he pulled in a breath and downed the rest of his beer, giving up on the wishing. Wishing was for normal folk, people with birthday cakes and the time to wait for shooting stars. Not Sam. Sam was cursed.

 

~

After Dean caught his breath and successfully shushed Y/N back into patient silence, he crawled forward and stuck his head out of the hole he had created by pushing the hard panel away. He squirmed forward until his head, arms and chest were clear of the tunnel and took a quick look around at what he was about to get himself into.

Dean hung out of a small rectangular section of mirrored wall about three feet up from the floor, which was also a mirror. Looking around, Dean saw that in fact, the entire room was one giant mirror. Or, rather, every inch of wall, floor, and ceiling was paneled in shining glass mirrors. Looking down, he saw that his escape had shattered that particular bit of mirror, and nasty shards lay at the foot of the wall, right where he had to set his hands to get down.

“This is gonna suck,” he mumbled, and set his hands on the wall below to help hoist himself free.

He didn’t exactly fall out, but it wasn’t graceful either. Dean landed with both hands flat on the reflective floor, the shards of broken mirror slicing cleanly through his left palm and right thumb. He shook it off though, and stood to assist Y/N in making a cleaner exit that he had.

She tumbled out of the passageway and fell right into Dean’s waiting arms. It was anything but romantic, however, since the swing of her legs as she fell forced her foot to connect with Dean’s right shin and nearly took him down.

“I can’t take much more of this,” he groaned and rubbed at his bruised leg once she pulled away.

“You’re tellin’ me,” Y/N scoffed and patted the front of her shirt to evict a cloud of dirt. She looked around slowly, twisting at the hips to peek at the new world around her. The room was lit by a single pane in the ceiling above; frosted plexiglass that housed a florescent bulb. The light hit the mirrored floor and bounced back up and around, setting every surface aglow. Y/N cocked her head as she stared into the wall across from her, watching as her reflection multiplied to infinity behind her. No matter which way she turned her eyes, there was another one of herself staring back. Bruised, caked in blood, eyes dark and puffy, hair a mess of choppy angles, skin torn and pulled, clothes seeped through with burgundy patches. She raised a hand to her cheek and traced a line left behind by the barbed wire so many rooms back; it was thick and dark red now, falling from the corner of her right eye to the middle of her cheek. She barely remembered feeling it happen, but there it was in high definition; a souvenir that would surely stick around for the rest of her days.

As Y/N stared at her reflection, Dean looked passed his million selves and scoured the room for a way out. The mirrored floor was unkind to his barefeet, and every other step he took left a spiderweb crack in his wake. The floor splintered and shattered beneath him, and Dean stepped as lightly as he could while investigating the walls, searching for their exit. He placed his hands on the wall and gave it a slightly push, but nothing moved. He looked up suddenly, startled by the green eyes that met his gaze. He stared into his own eyes, marveling at how different they looked. He was tired, sure, but the green was fading, growing lighter and lighter the longer he stared. He swallowed hard and tried to rip himself away, but he was caught in his own eyes, entranced by the pain he found there.

The hunters fell silent, but the room came to life. From some hidden speaker, whispers began to fill the air, and Y/N’s eyes narrowed a thousand times as she tried to hear them more clearly. They were a jumble of voices, impossible to decipher, but in her exhausted mind, they twisted themselves, turning into shadows of her past.

In the mirror she saw her guilt; the loved ones she had wronged, the strangers she had failed to save. She saw her father, Joe, a ghost behind her, silently screaming and reaching a bloodied hand to strike her. She spun around, trying to cast the image away, but he was there behind her as well. He was everywhere, standing just out of reach, accusing and defaming her for his death. 

It hadn’t been her fault, not really. When the bell tolled for Joe, it was a demon who rang. A nasty, vengeful beast who took the poor man on a field trip around Chicago before leaping out of a fourth-story window. When Y/N caught up with him and exorcised the demon, she had no way to know that her father wouldn’t live. No way to detect the internal bleeding that the possessing spirit had held at bay; no way to see the broken bones and cracked skull that evil had duct taped together.

As the smoke left his mouth, Joe collapsed into a heap; his spine crumbling and blood gushing from his lips. Y/N held her father as he faded, screaming into the empty night for help that never came. Eight years had passed since that night, but the memory was fresh; revived each night in her dreams.

She cried out as the apparition of her father stalked her around the room, his dark eyes locked to hers, meeting her every glance in the mirror with a sneer and a shout, “Your fault!”

Y/N grit her teeth and balled her fists, fighting silently against the image. “No!”

Desperate to stop the spell, she hit the wall in front of her, indenting the mirror in the shape of her knuckles and causing a fissure in the glass. 

~

A little before dawn on Thursday, Sam arrived back at the motel. He had closed the bar, drinking himself almost to sleep while he chatted up the locals for more information. If he was being honest, however, he knew that it was a fruitless attempt. No one knew anything. No one had seen or heard anything unusual. All seemed to be well in the little town of Hell.

He pulled the Impala into the spot in front of his room and cut the engine. He didn’t want to go inside. Inside was but an empty room, with a giant empty bed, and he was tired of being alone. He missed Y/N more than he thought possible. Missed her face, her smile, her scent, her stupid jokes, her laugh; everything. Sam gripped the steering wheel and gave it a shove. He had to get her back.

Deciding that an empty bed was better than a cramped front seat, Sam left the car and shuffled to his room. As he pulled the key from his pocket, he saw a figure in the corner of his eye, and turned to watch a rather large man slip inside the plastic sheeting that closed off the construction area on the closed wing of the motel. With his curiosity stoked, Sam quietly slipped over to the roped-off opening and peeled back the frosted plastic to take a peek. It was fairly dark, but all seemed well. Ladders and paint buckets sat by the wall, tarps, brushes, and tool boxes were scattered about. Sam sighed and headed back to his room; sometimes a construction site is just that, and nothing more.

~

As Y/N battled the ghost of her father, Dean was locked in a fight with his greatest enemy: himself. Many times before he had faced his own distorted image, but now each incarnation of Dean Winchester was there, and they were all ready to attack. He saw himself, a child, beaten down and put upon; his only job to care for his family when there was no one there to show him how or to care for him in return. He saw the teenager who pushed away love and kindness, opting to play the bad boy and act out just to save himself the pain of leaving when the time came. 

Dean watched as he ran through women in his twenties, delighting in his conquests and pushing back the hurt when they were gone. He saw the face of each woman he’d taken, each one hurt when he never called, when he never swung back into town, when he was just gone. He saw Lisa, a foggy ghost in the distance, looming over his shoulder with a scowl and tears in her eyes. Dean shuddered at the look on her face, knowing how wrong he had done her, feeling guilty every day for taking her memories.

He tried to turn away, to close his eyes to the film being shown, but the whispers called to him, forcing him to watch. The Angry Brother, the Demon, the Broken Man who carried his guilt like a scarlet letter; they swam in Dean’s vision, showing him all the wrong he had done over so many years.

In the end it was Sam that broke him down. The multitude of Deans compressed before his true eyes and then dispersed into the atmosphere like smoke from a pipe. When the air cleared, Dean was left alone with the one person he had always wronged, the one person who could accuse him rightly, the one person who knew the truth. Sam stood tall in the background, towering over Dean’s shoulder and glaring at him with eyes that were all wrong.

Dean shook his head to the spirit, knowing how wrong it was. Sam forgave him; he always did. Sam was his brother and no matter what Dean did, intentional or not, Sam would still love him.

A sneer pulled at the ghost’s lips, giving Sam an eerie smile that tore through Dean. He let the rage collect in his gut, hot and piercing like fire, and then, with clenched jaw and hands, he let it out in an explosion that shook the walls and sent the mirror crashing to the ground.

As the wall shattered and fell, the ceiling began to buckle. Y/N and Dean looked up in horror as long, snaking cracks ran freely over their heads. One by one, large sections of mirror began to fall, raining down on the pair like spikes from Heaven. They clung to one another and moved together, able to dodge most of the daggers as they fell. Their feet were not so lucky, as they were forced to run through the glass, shredding their feet as they escaped impalement from above.

The delicate floor shook with each avalanche, and Y/N clawed at Dean’s arm as she felt the glass give. It splintered under her weight and before Dean could grab her, the mirror shattered fully, opening up a hole that sucked her down. She screamed as gravity took her, sending her plummeting through the air, surrounded by bits of glass that stung her skin.

Dean watched her disappear into the blackness below, shielding his eyes from the raining mirror that threatened to slice him alive and bleed him dry. He screamed her name, but was met with silence in return. There was only one thing left to do.

He took a breath and gave one last look at the room as it collapsed around him. It was either stay there and choke on glass, or dive into the unknown. It wasn’t really a choice; wherever Y/N was, he was going too. They were in this together. Until the very end. 

~

Sam fell down, face first onto the bed, his boots still tied, his belt still secure. He couldn’t care about being comfortable, not when Dean and Y/N were out there somewhere. He couldn’t even care about himself, but he knew he needed to rest. Another day going as fast and pushing as hard as he had been with no sleep wouldn’t help anyone.

As sleep tugged at his eyes, Sam saw a quick flash of the man who had disappeared into the construction zone, and he made a mental note to go ask Roger about that when he was more coherent. He had seemed vaguely familiar, but the beer was sloshing around nicely in his brain, and Sam couldn’t really be sure. He smacked his dry lips together a few times and then sighed, his mouth going slack as he fell forward into a dream.


	12. The Gates of Hell

Y/N crashed to the ground feet first; the impact of hitting the hard cement jammed her upwards with a force that rattled her bones. She felt her left leg buckle and she shrieked as pain ripped through her system. It sparked like fireworks up her legs and into her chest, lighting the edges of her vision with bright white. She fell forward, pressing her forehead to the cold floor and retching as a wave of nausea flowed over her.

Dean called to her from above, but only bile fell from her lips, and she could not move to answer.

He took the fall better than she had, rolling out of the somewhat controlled drop after landing on his back. He was dazed and probably bruised internally, but he shrugged it off; it was just one more injury to add to the list.

Y/N was gagging on nothing. Without replenishing food or water, their journey had left her stomach empty, but that didn’t stop her body from attempting to purge what little fluids she had left.

Dean flipped over and crawled towards her, inspecting her trembling body with hovering hands, afraid to touch her. When she could breathe again, she fell back onto the ground, twisting awkwardly so as not to move her leg. No blood showed through her jeans, but she feared the bone had snapped. She gasped, cringing in pain when Dean’s hand fell against her knee; the gentle touch sending shocks through her.

“That bad?” he asked, recoiling instantly.

“Yeah…” She nodded and raised her arm to her forehead, struggling not to cry again. She’d cried enough for a lifetime. She was tapped dry.

“Shit, I’m sorry, Kid.” He shook his head and went up on his knees to look her over. “Anything else busted up?” His fingertips brushed her over arms, he inspected the cuts on her hands, the bruise on her collarbone, and finally went for her leg, pulling the loose denim up to her knee. Gingerly, Dean lifted her leg and ran his hand down her shin. “It’s bad,” he sighed. “But I don’t think it’s broken. Probably jammed up your knee pretty good.”

“Lovely,” she whimpered and sat up on her elbows, finally looking around.

They were in a basement. It looked like one of a million such places, with cement walls that sported damp patches, and a cold, unyielding floor that was punctuated every few yards with steel columns that held the foundation in place above. The hole they had journeyed through was directly above, and while the basement around them was dark, the light from their Mirrored Hell shone down in thick beams. Looking up, Dean estimated they had dropped about fourteen feet to their current spot, and how they’d each landed without cracking their spines was a miracle in his eyes. The floor had buckled under their weight, but their drop was predetermined; they had passed through almost a garbage shoot, designed and built to deliver them to the basement.

When his gaze fell from the busted floor above, it landed on another miracle. Not thirty paces from where they lay was a steel door with a push bar handle, and above it, a glowing, red exit sign. 

 

~

Sam was startled awake by his dream, though, when he opened his eyes, the details fell quickly away, leaving him panting and sweaty without cause. He rolled over and blinked into the late morning sun, trying to call back the dream, but all he remembered was Y/N’s scream as she fell through blackness away from him.

He scratched at the four days worth of beard on his chin and yawned as he stood up, ready to get back to work. He stumbled into the bathroom with his eyes still half-mast, and turned on the shower. When the water hit his wrist as he tested the temperature, he remembered the message that Drunk Sam had left for Morning Sam, and he made his shower a quick one. He would have skipped it altogether, but he needed to wake up fast.

Fifteen minutes later, not so fresh faced, but wide eyed and on alert, Sam sprinted towards the main lobby and waited impatiently as Roger finished up a phone call. When the receiver hit the base, Sam set his arms casually against the top of the high desk and looked down at the awkward man. 

“Good Morning, Agent Tyler,” Roger greeted him with a smile that didn’t move his gray eyes.

“Morning,” Sam returned with an equally unconvincing smile.

“What can I do for you today?” Roger asked, but did not keep eye contact, dropping his gaze to his computer and typing something quickly on the keyboard.

Sam’s nostrils flared a bit at the rude action, but pressed on. “I was just wondering about all the construction around here. Been going on long?” He raised his brows and feigned a kind, interested smile.

Roger shrugged noncommittally and lifted his chin. “I suppose. About four years.”

“Wow,” Sam commented, shaking his head and tossing his hair back. “Long time. That’s a lot of work.”

“There’s a lot of rooms,” Roger offered and chewed anxiously at the inside of his cheek.

“I bet.” Sam nodded, and turned away as if his line of questioning was complete. Roger seemed to settle back into his chair, but Sam spun back around with one finger held high. “Just one more thing, if you don’t mind.”

Roger stiffened and sat up straight. “Yes?”

“Saw a big guy last night, about, yea high…” Sam raised his hand level with his nose and went on, “…disappeared behind the caution tape. You know him?”

Roger stroked his chin in contemplation and then tapped his index finger against his lip. “That may have been Kevin, our maintenance man. He keeps odd hours.”

Sam nodded in understanding. “That’s Kevin,” he said rhetorically and turned back towards the door. “Huh.” Something was off. His gut was burning, twisting around inside trying to tell him something, but he couldn’t reach it. It was right there on the tip of his nose, but Sam couldn’t see passed the years of monsters and demons to put the clues together.

“Have a nice day,” Roger said with a smile as Sam reached for the door.

He turned to reply, to wave, to return the wish, and as he did, a ray of sun struck Roger’s giant glasses at the perfect angle, illuminating the reflection from his laptop screen. He wasn’t playing a video game. At least, not one in a virtual world.

~

A genuine smile spread across Dean’s face for the first time since their hug on the street; that drunken night seemed like weeks ago now.

Y/N scrunched up her face as she saw the happiness leak onto his features. “What’s… what?”

“Y/N/N…” He pointed behind her at the door as a relieved laugh shook his shoulders. “We made it.”

“What?” She twisted around, flipping over onto her side, and gasped at the exit sign that greeted her. “Holy… fuck… Dean!” Her heart skipped too many beats to count and her eyes welled with grateful tears. She turned back and reached for Dean, grabbing his shoulders and pulling him into a hug that had never felt as sweet. They had done the impossible, made it through Hell together, and they were finally free.

“I-I can’t… that’s… that’s it?” Y/N clutched his shirt and stared up at him with hopeful and innocent eyes.

His cheeks twitched with a smile and he nodded gently, covering her hand with his, so thankful to be alive, thankful that they had both made it out. “I think so,” he whispered.

They held each other’s gaze for a long moment, just breathing and letting hope wash over them.

“Y/N/N?” Dean said softly, patting her hand and pushing himself up. “Let’s get outta here.” He bent down and held out his hand, gripping her tightly when she slipped her palm against his.

“I thought you’d never ask.”


	13. Stairway to Heaven

Dean gripped Y/N’s hand tightly as they walked to the door. Their bodies were sore and near to breaking; their minds and spirits not far behind. But they had one thing, one thing that was pushing them onward… that luminescent red sign. 

This was it, this was the end; their horrid ordeal was coming to a close, and soon they would be back home where they belonged. In the end it didn’t matter what had led them there, the hows and whys didn’t even ring in their thoughts any longer; they just wanted the fresh air, the sun, and the safety of their beds.

Dean gave Y/N a quick smile, and together they placed their hands on the push bar. The door gave instantly, drenching them in glowing white light; the sun come to meet them finally. With hopeful eyes closed tight, they stepped out of the basement and into the light.

Dean let the door close behind them, and as it did, the world flipped on end in a gut-wrenching spin. The exit door slammed closed and a hydraulic lock engaged, echoing loudly as it sealed them inside their final room. Y/N grabbed Dean’s arm and pulled him towards her, moving him away from danger just as a wall of steel bars descended from the brightly lit ceiling and connected with the floor. They were blocked from the door, from the walls, from the ceiling, by thick metal rods on all sides; a true cage, with space between only wide enough for an arm to pass.

Y/N spun in place, her mind reeling as hope was dashed away. They were trapped like mice, like prisoners, in a cage made just for them.

Dean wasn’t spinning. He was still, but not calm, staring hard at the far wall beyond the cage, upon which hung a message: a hand stitched salutation framed behind delicate glass.

Home Sweet Home

“No.” It was a whisper that sounded on the end of his breath.

“No.” His fists balled at his sides as his voice grew in volume.

“No!” It was rage against the world, the stars, and all for locking them up once more.

“No.” It was a cry; defeated and hopeless as he fell to his knees on the cold cement. “No.” He breathed the word, letting it become part of him; feeling it soak into his bones like the cold from below that seeped upwards through his hands and knees. Dean fell forward, giving up. He let the tears fall freely, silently onto the floor. He let his breath expel in heavy sobs that shook his chest and rattled his heart. He beat his fists against the stone until his hands were aching and bruised black.

Y/N stood behind him, slowly collapsing in on herself. She watched Dean break, watched him claw at the ground, soaking it in blood and tears. She held back, her mind too tired to fully process the finality of their situation. This wasn’t it; there had to be a way.

The cage was fairly large; a good ten feet long on each side, and the ceiling was higher than any room they’d been in before. The bars were thick and strong, and Y/N tugged on them with all the strength left in her, but they did not move. Beyond the cage were cinderblock walls, some four feet away, and out of arm’s reach. The framed tapestry was all that decorated the gray stones, but it was enough to chill her bones each time her eyes passed over it.

Inside the cage was set up like a bedroom, she noticed now, with a mattress on the floor in the bottom right corner, and a chair in the left. On the floor facing their cross-stitched death sentence was a brown wicker picnic basket. Y/N cocked her head as she stared at it curiously. In hopes of finding a hacksaw or a grenade launcher, she carefully stepped around the crumbled pile of rags that was Dean and fell to her knees next to the basket.

Y/N wiped her soiled hands on her thighs and opened the lid. A wretched laugh tickled her chest as it worked its way up through her; stopping to shake her shoulders as it pushed out from her lips in a dry, crazed chuckle. Inside the basket was a bottle of champagne, two plastic flutes, and a carefully folded notecard. Y/N steadied herself enough to reach in and retrieve the note, but the laugh returned when she read the words, perfectly written in heavy calligraphy,

‘Welcome home.’

Her lips twitched, laughter replaced with rage as she read the note over and over again. Her fingers tore at the fancy paper, and a scream ripped through the quiet as Y/N snapped. She shredded the paper and rose to her feet, kicking at the basket and then at the bars, throwing herself repeatedly into the cage wall, desperate to shake them loose, to move them an inch, to affect any change in their predicament. Again and again she slammed her shoulders into the bars, but nothing moved. Her screams echoed off the cinder blocks and shook Dean from his stupor. He climbed to his feet and stepped between Y/N and the cage, blocking her next blow with his chest. He took the hit with a heavy groan and then wrapped his arms around his friend, fighting with her rage to hold her still. She twisted and struggled against his grasp, but he held firm, turning with her, not letting her break free.

Eventually she calmed and they sank to the floor together. Dean leaned against the bars and crushed Y/N to his chest, letting her count her breaths by the beating of his heart. He held her tight and rocked her gently, whispering placations and empty promises against her hair.

“What do we do?” she cried softly into his shoulder, her eyes wide and desperate for direction.

“I don’t know,” he confessed, looking once again at the frame on the wall. “I don’t know.”

~

Sam took a long step towards the counter, his eyes glued to the image he saw in Roger’s lenses, his hand closing around the handle of his gun. He kept his face neutral, but had Roger known him better, he would have guessed all in the subtle clench of Sam’s jaw and the twitch of his nose.

“Something else I can help you with?” Roger looked up and smiled as Sam approached.

“Just one more thing,” Sam said, keeping his voice calm and monotone. He reached the desk and looked down at Roger, confirming his suspicions and filling with rage. The image he had caught in the man’s glasses was that of his brother and girlfriend, huddled together in a cage. In an instant, Sam pushed away all facade of calm and drew his pistol. Fire flared in his hazel eyes as he aimed the gun and growled. “You can put your hands up and back away from the computer.”

~

Minutes, hours, days; they had no way to know how long they had been there. Not since their beer soaked evening at the bar had either even a fleeting sense of time. There was no light, no dark, no way to gauge the passing of time but the breaths they took and the beat of their hearts.

When the tears had dried, Y/N passed into a dreamlike daze, her head rolling gently against Dean’s shoulder, and her eyes falling closed only to pop open every few seconds as she was reminded of their ordeal. Dean kept his arm around her and set his eyes to the floor. He went over every moment from their journey; every step that had led them there. It seemed impossible and pointless that it should all end in a cage. Their trek had been destined for a dead end, but why?

At some point they moved onto the mattress, Dean folding himself around Y/N to keep her warm and provide the illusion of safety. She fell asleep finally, her entire being giving in to the physical trials and mental torture. When her breathing deepened and her limbs went slack, Dean slipped away to inspect the cage. He walked slowly around the perimeter, stopping every few feet to jostle a bar; he ran his fingers down over every welded connection, seeking a chink in the barrier, a drop of hope. Each attempt came up empty. The cage was solid; their imprisonment absolute.

Y/N woke up a few hours later to a loud pop that filled the room and made her jump. She sat up quickly and rubbed at her eyes, blinking into the bright overhead lights that beamed down upon them. Dean was at the foot of the mattress, filling the plastic champagne flutes with bubbly. He looked up at Y/N with a faint smile and handed her a glass.

“What’s this?” she said weakly, her throat torn and burning from the screaming she had done.

“Cheers,” Dean set the bottle down and picked up his own flute, holding it up so they could toast.

“Dean…” Y/N shook her head, not wanting to join in his game, but he insisted.

“You’re exhausted and dehydrated. The sugar will do you good. Drink up,” he said and raised his glass a bit before taking a sip of the room temperature liquid. The bubbles attacked his throat and shot upwards towards his nose, and Dean cringed at the taste.

Y/N sighed and looked down into her cup. “So this is it?” she asked, biting at her cheek to keep from crying. “We make it through Hell just to end up here? Locked up in a cage like rats?”

Dean shook his head and licked a drop of sweetness from his lip. “No,” he said simply. “That wasn’t Hell. This is Hell. All that was nothing, this… this is where it ends. Where we end.”

“No, Sam’s coming. He’s coming, I know he is.” Y/N nodded, agreeing with herself, trying to hold onto that last piece of hope. “Any second now, he’s gonna break down that door and get us out.”

Dean laughed bitterly and took a second sip. “He’s not coming.”

Y/N lifted her glass and took a breath. “You’re wrong.”

~

Roger scooted back in his chair, raising his hands as a smirk passed his lips. He was cooperating, but only for show. He had a vantage point that Sam did not have, able to see the entire lobby, and his accomplice, Kevin, sneak up behind Sam.

“Just stay right there!” Sam yelled, and then spun around as the floor creaked loudly behind him. He turned just in time to see Kevin attack, his bulky right fist flying towards Sam’s head, a needle held high in the left. Sam dodged the blow just in time, bending down and jumping back up with a punch to Kevin’s gut. The man doubled over, and Sam brought his gun down, knocking him out with a hard shot to the back of the head. The handyman crumbled and Sam looked up, chest heaving as he caught his breath, and saw that Roger had crept away.

With renewed anger, Sam tossed his head back, sweeping the sweaty hair from his forehead, and rushed over to the abandoned computer. He clicked a few times to call back the screen he had seen the shadow of, and after a moment it appeared. It was a split screen, four cameras pointed at a cage, observing Dean and Y/N from every angle possible.

The pair looked half-dead, thin and graying, their clothes little more than soiled rags stained with blood; their faces more of the same. They lay on a filthy mattress that occupied a corner of the cage, curled into each other, their foreheads touching as they whispered back and forth. Wide eyed and horrified, Sam fumbled with the controls, trying to zoom in, to turn on a microphone, anything; but it was useless. The four screens were as high tech as the set up got, and Sam was forced to watch the silent production. 

As he watched, Dean reached into the back pocket of his jeans and pulled out a thin piece of metal that flashed in the light as he brought it up between them. Sam beat his fist onto the desk, unable to see what was happening. It didn’t matter anyway, he was close.

A door slammed behind him, and Sam turned towards it, gathering himself and preparing to finish his hunt and save the day.

~

“Y/N/N… we can’t.” Dean sighed as he held the scalpel between them. He gripped the handle tight and looked from its rusty blade into her pretty face. She was tired through and through, her cheeks stained by dirt and tears, lips cracked and bleeding. Bruises spread like purple webs across her neck and collarbone, and he knew the ones he couldn’t see were worse. The cuts she’d endured were red and inflamed by infection, and he felt his burning as well.

Her fingers closed around his hand, and she looked back with a peaceful smile. “It’s OK, Dean. This is how it has to be.”

For days they had wasted away in the cage, taking turns to saw at the bars with shards of glass from the broken champagne bottle while the other kept watch over the door, praying for Sam. The glass caused not even a dent, and the door never opened. They were dying, truly, painfully, finally.

With hearts that raced and stopped with no rhyme or reason, and heads that pounded and spun, Y/N and Dean lay down on the mattress and contemplated the end. How long could they last, alone in this room? How many hours did they have left before the Reaper came? A healthy human could live up to seven days with no water, but they had already been through so much. They had been beaten and bled beyond what a person could handle, and Dean felt his strength fade a little more with every breath he took. He was dying. Y/N was dying. There was nothing he could do.

“I can’t,” he said again, his voice hoarse, throat dry. He licked at his lips out of habit, but the cuts in the creases were deep and they stung when he pulled his tongue away.

“It’ll be quick,” she said softly. “And then it’ll all be over. We can be free of this place.”

Dean searched her eyes, darting back and forth between her glassy irises, but he found nothing there but resolve. She was ready. “But Sam…” he tried, hoping to instill another ounce of hope into her.

Y/N smiled and shook her head. “Sam’s not coming. You were right.” Her hand left his to cup his face, and she pushed away a vagrant tear from his cheek. “You with me?” she asked, recalling the promise they had made to each other at the start.

Dean nodded and closed his eyes. “Yeah, I’m with ya.”

She smiled and leaned forward to press a gentle kiss to his lips. She sucked in a deep breath to push back her tears, and took the tiny blade from his hand. “I love you, Dude,” she whispered.

Dean shivered and opened his eyes. “I love you too, Kid.”

~

Sam held Roger at gunpoint in his little room behind the lobby. For all his cunning and schemes, the twisted man did not have an escape plan. He never thought he could be caught, and for four years he had carried on, playing his game with the random souls he plucked from the night.

Sam’s fist cracked hard against Roger’s jaw once more and then man’s head snapped back as he let out a groan.

“Where are they!” Sam bellowed as he leaned down and set his hands on the arms of the chair that held Roger tight.

The man flinched but simply smiled in return, shaking his head slightly as he refused to answer the question. “You know, you should be proud. No one’s ever made it that far before. I was surprised.” Roger’s tongue snuck out and he licked away a bit of blood from the corner of his mouth that Sam’s jab had called forth. “Most never make it off the operating table.”

Sam’s lip curled into a hateful sneer when he heard those words. “What have you done to them?”

“Oh,” Roger laughed. “So many things. But, really, they’ve done it all to themselves. I’ve just provided the… necessary inspiration.” He leaned forward and looked Sam dead in the eyes. “And from what I’ve seen, they’re about to do it to themselves again.”

“What do you mean?” Sam seethed, his hands tightening around the wooden arms.

“The ultimate escape.” Roger smiled again.

Sam let out a roar born of frustration and pain and spun away from the chair. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to stay calm and get the answers he needed, but Roger’s shrill voice went on, piercing Sam’s ears.

“They made it through my rooms in amazing time. Only took them fifteen hours; and that’s with all my trip ups and knocking them out and whatnot. I was quite impressed. Which means, of course, that your brother and that pretty little thing have been locked in their cage for just shy of eighty-six hours. Do you have any idea what that would do to a person? It’s been very educational watching them lose their minds, I must say. I’m so grateful for the opportunity.”

Sam’s fingers twitched against his gun, and without thinking he switched the safety off again and spun around to face Roger. “Tell me where they are!”

Roger laughed. “Don’t you know? They’ve been here the whole time. Right under your nose.” His shoulders shook with glee and Sam’s heart pounded in his ears. “Some detective you are.”

Sam raised the gun and pressed the barrel hard against Roger’s forehead, marking his target, straight between his eyes. He let out a cry that stopped Roger’s incessant laughter and Sam’s hand began to shake.

They both jumped when the door was kicked open; Kevin having returned to consciousness and bounding in to save his partner. In the shadows of the back room, Sam could see clearly that he was the man from the video, and while he took no pleasure in putting down a human, he had no mercy either. A single shot to the heart dropped the massive man, and Kevin crumbled, his dead eyes wide and mouth agape.

Sam turned back to the mastermind and took aim once more. The man cowered, eyes darting between his fallen comrade and his executioner.

“You don’t want to kill me,” he said quickly, on a mission to bargain for his life. “If you kill me, they’ll be locked away forever. I’m the only one who knows the codes to unlock the system.”

A soulless smile curled the corner of Sam’s mouth as he lowered the hammer on the pistol. “Well, lucky for me I’m pretty good with computers.”

Roger struggled against the rope that held his arms. “Just wait! Wait!”

“Roger,” Sam said, taking a deep breath and lowering the gun. “There’s only one thing I need to know from you… Why?”

All pleading fell away as Roger transformed back into the psychotic monster he truly was. “Why?” he asked with a sneer.

“Yeah,” Sam confirmed, narrowing his eyes. “Why?”

Roger licked his lips and lifted his chin to look at Sam properly. “Why not?”

~

Dean’s eyes popped open when he heard the gunshots. They seemed close, but muted by so many layers of concrete that he couldn’t be sure if they were real. Could just be his mind playing tricks on him again; he’d been the victim of hopeful hallucinations now too many times to count. 

Y/N whimpered next to him, her breath becoming slow and faint. Dean clutched her hand to his chest, feeling how cold her fingers were growing. Her eyes fluttered and he kissed her fingertips as he began to hum again. He could feel himself slipping away, and everything in him was battling the end. He didn’t want to go, not like this, not ever, but it was too late.

“There’s a feeling I get, when I look to the west…”

Y/N smiled as he sang, listening to his gruff melodic whisper as the room faded away.

“And my spirit is crying for leaving…”

The bars melted around her, the lights dimmed; the torment of waiting and the pain of their trials fell away.

“In my thoughts I have seen, rings of smoke through the trees…”

“Dean…”

“Yeah, Y/N/N?”

She smiled as she closed her eyes. “You’re a horrible singer.”

~

Sam’s fingers danced frantically over the keys, his eyes searching each line of code, blurring and stinging as sweat dripped down from his forehead. It didn’t take him long to break the system, and soon he was ripping back caution tape and flying through the plastic sheeting on the final leg of his search.

~

Dean stirred when he heard the lock disengage. He turned his head towards the door and saw it push open; his heart stopping and his lungs expanding with a deep breath when his eyes fell upon his brother.

“Sam?” Dean croaked the name, still not sure if he was real or an illusion.

“Dean!” Sam rushed towards the cage, looking between the thick bars at the bloody mattress and the pair that lay on top.

“Sammy…” Dean let his head fall back down, but managed a smile. He rolled back to Y/N and shook her shoulder gently. “Y/N/N… wake up, Kid. He did it. Sam saved us.”

Sam looked around the room quickly until he found the little frame on the wall that, according to Roger’s plans, hid the switch that would open the cage. He tossed the cross stitch to the ground, shattering the glass in his haste, and flipped the lever. Instantly, the bars closest to the door retracted into the ceiling, and Sam rushed to Dean’s side.

He fell to his knees on the mattress, hovering over Y/N, his hands frantically traveling up her body. A breath caught in his throat when he saw the blood running down from her wrist, and he gathered her up, clamping one giant hand down on the wound and pressing hard. He looked to Dean who struggled to speak, his lip quivering with pain and regret.

“We… we didn’t think you would find us,” he whispered. 

Sam couldn’t answer. He fell down over Y/N, his tears dropping to her face and clearing a path downwards. If he had been faster, smarter; if he hadn’t left them alone in the first place, none of this would have happened. He pressed his lips to her cold cheek and let the wave of guilt flow over him.

“Y/N…”

 

… …


	14. Heaven Can Wait

The Bunker was quiet.

Sam sat in his arm chair in the Library, a book open but forgotten in his lap. He ran a hand through his hair and took a breath, trying to calm the nervous twitch that was working its way up his spine.

It had been three months since their stint in Hell, and yet, Sam could not let it go. Any time the room was still, any time his mind was at rest, waves of guilt and panic slowly washed over him.

The silence was a jab to his heart; a reminder of his failings.

The empty room a slap in the face.

He knew he had done all that he could, but his best hadn’t been good enough. He hadn’t been fast enough to save them from the horrors that were forced upon them. He had been so sure the attackers had taken them out of town that he never even picked up on the clues right under his own nose. For four days, Dean and Y/N had fought and bled and suffered just yards from his motel room. While he slept in warmth and comfort, they had huddled together in a blood drenched cell, broken and hopeless, waiting to die.

There was no excuse he could make, no way to apologize; nothing could make it all right.

And so, Sam sat in silence, letting his eyes fall closed and his jaw tighten until his heart stopped pounding; until his breath slowed and his nails released themselves from his palms. He was battling his own mind, desperate to stop the self hate that was growing inside, but in the end, he didn’t really want to. He deserved to suffer just as Y/N had; just as Dean.

As Sam’s hands began to shake and the worst was closing in, the silence around him was mercifully broken by the big door at the top of the stairs. He held his breath as he heard footsteps on the metal grates, and swallowed back his tears as familiar voices filled the air.

“Just let it go, Kid. There’s no way I’m gonna watch it.”

“Come on, Dude! It’s so good.”

Sam sat up and listened to their argument, smiling as the shiver faded away.

“It’s chick flick nonsense!” Dean scoffed.

Y/N paused on the step and crossed her arms, a shopping bag full of DVDs swinging into the railing. “It is not nonsense! It’s a love story!”

“Sure it is,” Dean smirked.

Y/N’s lip curled in annoyance as she scurried down the rest of the steps to jab Dean’s chest with her finger. “It is. Joey and Pacey were meant to be together from the beginning and watching them find each other despite all the obstacles is just amazing.” She was near to shouting, but Dean just kept his sassy smile, nodding down at her with pursed lips as she ranted.

Sam laughed at her freak out, and Y/N turned to find him standing at the end of the long, glowing table. His eyes were red and his shoulders tense, telling Y/N all she needed to know.

Immediately, she let go of her argument and dropped the bag onto the table. She walked to Sam, falling into his open arms, and squeezed him tight.

“You OK?” she asked, face pressed against his firm chest.

He nodded and refused to let her to, wrapping his big arms around her even tighter. “I am now that you’re back,” he whispered.

She pushed back gently to inspect his face and smiled up at him. “How about we go hide away for a while? Just the two of us?”

Sam kissed her softly and sighed. “I’d like that.”

She fit her hand into his and led him away from the War Room, giving Dean an apologetic smile as she passed. He shrugged and watched them disappear down the hallway, grateful that she could care for Sam, thankful that he let her. But most of all, happy to be home.

Dean scratched at his chin and then looked over his shoulder, making sure the coast was clear before retrieving the bag from the table. He pulled it open and looked down at the box sets, mumbling to himself. “She should have ended up with Dawson.”

Y/N gasped from the doorway and rushed to his side. “I knew it!” As Dean stammered to find a lie, Y/N snatched the bag from his hands and shook her head in reprimand. “I knew you’ve seen it! You were too eager when I picked it out, you jerk.”

Dean licked his lip as an embarrassed smile tugged at his face. “Well…”

“It’s OK,” she said with a wink. “I won’t tell Sam.”

Dean laughed and pulled her in for a quick hug that turned into a little bit more. Her fingers clung to his arm and she breathed heavy against his chest. They held on tight, like they had during all those hours locked away; back when all they had was each other. Most days were fine, the wounds had healed and the scars were fading; but time doesn’t mend all, especially the fear that they each held on to. Those mental scars would linger longer, trapped in nightmares and thoughts they would each push away. Dean could see it some days: a distant look in Y/N’s eyes that told him she was back there, still locked in the cage. He could always call her back, change the mood with a joke or a touch, remind her that they were home and safe; and she did the same for him.

Dean patted her head and kissed her temple before pushing her away, having taken what comfort he needed from the moment.

Y/N ran off, headed back to Sam, but spared Dean one last look over her shoulder.

They had been through Hell together and survived. They had laid down before Death and been pulled back at the last moment. They had lost their minds, their hope, their spirits, but found each other in the final chapter. They were bonded by blood and tears and the flames of Hell. They were family now and forever.


End file.
